I’ve got another cold at the moment, and when I am ill I tend to retreat back into my fairly eidetic memory; so, struggling at work I drifted off and eventually sat reminscing about some of the great Baldy/Krishnan escapades of yesteryear. And one in particular came to mind, I thought I’d share it with you:
The yarn. Circa – sometime in mid-late 1990’s.
Alex was coming back from visiting his mum in Wales, I agreed to meet him at London’s Euston station to give him a hand getting some stuff back to Croydon (because there was quite a bit he was bringing back).
Anyway, I met Al and he gave me a backpack and together we jumped on the tube to London Victoria; just as we were ready to get off I suddenly realised that I’d left the backpack on the platform by the bench at Euston.
Realising what I’d done we both immediately got off at the next stop, got on a return tube and proceeded back to Euston. Alex as always was cool as a cucumber but as soon as I got off at the platform and there was nobody there (this was around 6pm on a Sunday and it would normally have been packed); my stomach sank, I knew immediately that I’d sparked a major security alert.
Thankfully the tube we got on was not diverted (it can either sit at a safe stage before the alerted station) – good old British rail) and we were ushered up the escalators and into the main waiting area ready to be escorted out the building.
At this point, the station was completely empty; bizarrely all except for a BLOW UP DOLL someone had left inflated and left standing up on one of the telephone kiosk just inside the main doors. I’d have to say that seeing this thing standing there (it was blonde with massive red lips and looked a bit like Paris Hilton) was one of the more obscure experiences of my life. Alex will most certainly vouch.
Anyway, I took a deep breath, turned my attention away from the inflatable love-raft and approached security by the stairs. I owned up, yep, it was me. The security man was both relieved and rather annoyed that I had admitted it had been my error and that the property was in fact ‘mine’ and not an IRA bomb (this was god knows how many years ago). I walked down the relevant platform escorted by 2 security guards and approached the backpack.
The somewhat beefy security guard asked me what was in the bag? Blimey, how did I know It wasn’t mine? Alex was still waiting up at the top of the escalators and now I was about to get shot. I was honest, I didn’t know and told them I’d be happy to open the bag.
Nervously I opened the strap, pulled over the cover and there standing in full view of me was a stuffed fox’s head on a platter. Now to me this was quite a normal thing for Alex to have (he eventually got rid of it because it had worms) but the poor security guard looked like I’d put his nads in a vice and tightened them. Panic over. Phew.
I sealed the bag, walked up the escalator and we walked out, laughing about the incident all the way back to Croydon.
The blow up doll vanished and wasn’t there when we left, where did it go? Who took it?
That will forever remain, a mystery………ooooooooooooooh, dun dun dun!
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