Saturday, 12 September 2026

The man who patted a head

An elderly man, proprietor of a noodle stall in the covered market, casually pats the head of a young girl as he passes by her café table.

He pauses when the girl's mother reprimands him angrily. The stallholder makes the mistake of defending himself - all he did was pat the kid's head - and at that moment the father arrives at a gallop to see what's going on and valiantly assumes the task of rebuking the assailant.

The noodle man continues to protest his innocence but the girl's father will have none of that and ends up grabbing his arm and hurling him to the floor.

All this was captured by a security camera and presumably by a mobile phone or two because a video is soon circulating on social media.

The stallholder later told a local news channel that he'd patted the little girl's head because she was very adorable. 'Old people like to pat young children's heads,' he explained plaintively.

Isn't this a sad little story?

Well, I think so. It happened in Singapore, but it caught my attention for being such an extraordinary event. If you sit an adorable little kid at a café table anywhere in La Gomera you can fully expect him or her to be patted on the head every few minutes, or get their cheek tweaked or tummy tickled, or find themselves grabbed from their chair by a waitress or waiter to be whisked into the café to meet the other staff, play with the cash register, ring the gratuities bell a few times and emerge with a lollipop.

Children are a joy for all of us, is the general idea. I once went over to say hello to a young shopkeeper we knew, seated at a café table with her toddler in a pushchair. An adorable little lad. I tickled his tummy, winning a smile. 'Llévalo,' his mum said. Take him.

'Take him?'

'Take him.'

I lifted Leo out of his pushchair, perched him on my arm and ferried him around the tables to be introduced to Janine, some foreign friends sitting at another table, a few locals, the café's proprietor and anyone else who fancied tickling his tummy.

The boy could well be expected to be screaming with fear by now in Singapore but for this Gomeran it was all just routine. I returned him to his mum who was deep into something on her phone's screen and barely noticed Leo had come back.

Perhaps this is why Gomerans grow up so much at ease with each other and even with weird foreigners. They experience social interactions of every kind from year zero. They learn who to trust and, I'm quite sure, who not to trust.

Perhaps it also helps to explain another theme I touched on in a much earlier story (Give us a kiss), the essential role of physical contact in every encounter. If you meet someone in the street and pause for a word or two, the need to touch them is irresistible. Arm, shoulder, back, choose the most appropriate, but touch you must. You can even tickle an elderly man's tummy if you know him well enough.

So what happened to the poor guy in Singapore who got thrown to the floor for patting a toddler's head?

It's reported that he suffered light injuries but nothing serious, and the girl's father eventually realised he had overdone his role as family guardian, apologised to the stallholder and invited him to a drink at the cafe table.

The victim said he didn't want to pursue the matter any further. His son did though, declaring that he trusted justice would he done. He smelled money, in other words, and that's sad too, isn't it?

Tuesday, 8 September 2026

The return of the interrogator

Transcript of a merciless interrogation of the author after a lengthy but entirely explicable pause in his formerly reliable output. He was first subjected to a similar ordeal in November 2016.

Cold and Humourless Interrogator: So, once again we begin with a defensive and clearly biased introduction: an 'entirely explicable pause...'

Defensive Blogger: And once again you quote from the introduction to the post-conversation transcript. How is that supposed to work?

CHI: (snapping) Don't quibble!

DB: Sorry.

CHI: (adjusting his steel-rimmed spectacles irritably) Do you accept that the last time you contributed a post to this blog was in May 2024?

DB: If you say so.

CHI: (snapping) I certainly do! It was well over two years ago.

DB: Okay, okay. It's only a blog. And why am I sat here like a hoodlum with a paper bag over my head and my legs tied to a kitchen chair?

     (Silence)

DB: All right, a bit of wild imagination creeping in there.

CHI: At least it demonstrates some residual brain activity.

DB: Look…

CHI: This is supposed to be a blog, may I remind you, about everyday life in La Gomera. Is nothing happening? Has the entire population set sail for Venezuela?

DB: The population's growing, actually. Whole place crawling with babies. It's nice. Lively.

CHI: So, why the deafening silence from your pen?

DB: (chuckles) I like that.

CHI: (peevishly) You understand perfectly well what I mean.

     (Silence)

CHI: We have ways, you know, of…

DB: No, no, wait, I'm thinking. I'm not sure I want to get into this.

CHI: You're in it.

DB: (sighs) Look, I've been having a rough time recently.

CHI: (mockingly) Oh dear. Do tell?

DB: Really? There's nothing more boring than people going on about their problems. At our time of life, never ask anyone 'So, how are you?'.

CHI: (still mocking) So, how are you?

DB: Fine now. But in recent times my wife and I between us have had appointments with a dentist, an odontologist, an audiologist, a traumatologist, a cardiologist, a dermatologist, a rheumatologist, a physiotherapist, a urologist and a radiotherapist. We've had ten days in hospital, electrocardiograms, X-ray imaging, computer-assisted tomography, photon beam radiotherapy and bone density scans.

CHI: (momentarily nonplussed) That must've been one hell of a car crash.

DB: That's one way to describe it. Others are senior citizenship, the third age, autumn of life, twilight years, final decline into oblivion. I'm not so keen on the last one.

CHI: (shaking head sadly) So you've given up? Going under?

DB: Not at all! As a wise acquaintance remarked, if you have no health problems at all it's because you're dead.

CHI: Incidentally, it's AN urologist, not A urologist.

DB: In Spanish it's un urólogo, pronounced oo-ROL-ogo, which solves the problem. (Mutters something inaudible.)

CHI: (leaning back in his chair) Let's be frank, shall we? One suspects, from your prevarication, that you've simply run out of ideas.

DB: So many hours spent in waiting rooms does tend to drain you. The ideas are there, just not bubbly enough. I'll get back to it, sooner or later.

CHI: You intend to write more stories?

DB: Yes. Sure! Well, I think so.

CHI: (nodding) I see.

DB: No you don't see! You don't see at all. If I promise to carry on as before, relaunch myself then find I can't keep up with it, that's worse than not starting at all, isn't it?

CHI: (sniggers) Your loyal readers might be quietly relieved by either of those alternatives.

      (A long silence, then the Defensive Blogger rises to his feet)

DB: Fine. You asked for it. I'll start by writing about a crotchety, dried-up husk whose only pleasure is to try and upset vulnerable victims.

CHI: (mocking again) So when can we expect to see this miraculous renaissance?

DB: Now! I've just done it. (Points a finger) And I know who you are.