For a mid-week treat I took Betty, my mum-in-law, to Arighi Bianchi for lunch. "Drop me at the side door," she told me. "So I’ll be near the lift."
At 82 years old she’s not very mobile so I walked her into the store before going back out to park the car. Imagine my surprise when I returned to find her whizzing around 360 degrees in an expensive rotary chair.
"Yippee!" she yelled as I sprinted through the door. "Come and have a go."
I dragged her off before we were spotted and bunged her unceremoniously into the lift towards the restaurant.
"I’ll have a large white wine," she said as the waitress took our order.
By the time our lunch arrived Betty’s glass was empty.
"What a disappointment," she said raising the empty glass to her lips. "It must have evaporated."
"Here, have some of mine," I offered. "That’s awful, it tastes like water," she said sipping from my glass.
"It’s good wine, just not as sweet as yours," I lied.
After a great lunch I was determined to get her back into the car without further embarrassment.
Leaving her sat on a firm (non- spinning) chair by the disabled toilet I went to get the car.
On returning to the store I heard the piercing sound of an alarm.
Bolting through the door I found Betty shuffling towards me yelling: "Get me in the car and tell ‘em I didn’t do it."
"What the hell was all that about?" I asked, once we were on the move.
"Beats me," she said innocently. "I just pulled the light cord and the alarm went off."
Quite how my plan for a quiet lunch with an elderly lady turned into the getaway scene from Bonnie and Clyde I’m not sure.
I went to bed afraid I’d awake with a searchlight shining through the bedroom window and Paul Bianchi yelling ‘Come out with your hands up,’ from his swivel chair.
