I am taken downstairs by Yusuf to see my new digs. As we descend the stairs, Yusuf stops.
"What do you think of Jean?" he has a bemused expression on his face. He must be in his early twenties. He reminds me of a young Al Pacino.
"Well..." I vacillate.
"Exactly. A bit crazy, hey? Did she make a pass?"
Seeing my own smile, he guesses.We carry on down. The digs are two rooms and a small entrance way. The entrance has a white painted iron gate with a large spiderweb motif on it. There's room for a couple of pedal bikes or a motorcycle.The first room has a sofa cum bed and a little table under the window. There is one chair in the corner. The further room has a tiny fridge and a large cupboard. There is a pokey kitchen off the second room and aa even pokier bathroom at the back.
"I'll keep my Murree beer in the fridge," says Yusuf. "I have to hide it from my Dad." He gives a charming and mischievous grin. I bring my bags down and say goodbye to Mrs Hashimoto.
"I'll know where to find you," she says archly and closes the Spiderweb gate/door. I settle in my new home.
Tariq Road is nearer where it all happens. It's busy by day and feels safe by night. I have an evening meal with Mrs Smythe. Her husband is a huge man in a T-shirt and jeans. He is very dark-skinned, like an Aborigine, and there is no sign of a turban or the five K's mentioned in my Sikhism course in college. He chuckles loudly, laughs loudly and even has a noisy smile. I like him, for all his lapsed Sikhism.
"What do you think of Jean?" he has a bemused expression on his face. He must be in his early twenties. He reminds me of a young Al Pacino.
"Well..." I vacillate.
"Exactly. A bit crazy, hey? Did she make a pass?"
Seeing my own smile, he guesses.We carry on down. The digs are two rooms and a small entrance way. The entrance has a white painted iron gate with a large spiderweb motif on it. There's room for a couple of pedal bikes or a motorcycle.The first room has a sofa cum bed and a little table under the window. There is one chair in the corner. The further room has a tiny fridge and a large cupboard. There is a pokey kitchen off the second room and aa even pokier bathroom at the back.
"I'll keep my Murree beer in the fridge," says Yusuf. "I have to hide it from my Dad." He gives a charming and mischievous grin. I bring my bags down and say goodbye to Mrs Hashimoto.
"I'll know where to find you," she says archly and closes the Spiderweb gate/door. I settle in my new home.
Tariq Road is nearer where it all happens. It's busy by day and feels safe by night. I have an evening meal with Mrs Smythe. Her husband is a huge man in a T-shirt and jeans. He is very dark-skinned, like an Aborigine, and there is no sign of a turban or the five K's mentioned in my Sikhism course in college. He chuckles loudly, laughs loudly and even has a noisy smile. I like him, for all his lapsed Sikhism.
The Spiderweb
No comments:
Post a Comment