I wanna hold your hand

Whenever we go out to places which are noisy or crowded – she holds my hand. And she keeps hold of it until she’s surer of whatever we are doing – or just so we don’t get separated.

The Rose holds my hand not as a child but in the manner of kettling with a tazer rod.
She takes my entire arm hostage and thrusts headlong into the situation like Obi Wan making his moves on Darth Maul.

This obviously serves to keep me in check. There’s nothing she hates more than having ‘picked my line’ though a gaggle of people or things, than I veer off course like a ball on a lazy Sunday afternoon pool table.

I’m just not that driven. I love a mooch. The Rose loves a purpose. She likes me to have a purpose. I’d rather ‘just see how we go’.  But I try to be focused. I really do – but this weekend we went to London. We walked along the south bank from Waterloo to The Tate. Who wouldn’t be distracted?

The Rose wouldn’t.

We were heading for the Lichtenstein exhibition but on the way there – oooh the book stalls, the pictures, the human statues, the sandcastles, the food and …the people – lots of them in every shape and size and hue, being endlessly fascinating!!!

It’s a terrific testament to The Rose that I am able to forget how difficult she finds this. But she’s always willing; always up for trying, always wanting a new experience and to learn how to cope.

So with determination in her eye and The Tate on her mind, she bravely grabbed her sword and shield and man handled me at speed through the sea of faces, noise and colour. Never stopping, never wavering and absolutely tight, white lipped like a policeman ejecting a hooligan from a football ground – intent on her destination and never stopping till we pass GO.

If I should digress; one twist from her vice like grip has me back on course in a heartbeat.

If I accidently drift off; a sharp yank will bring me to heel.

And she’s good. I respond like a thoroughbred horse to the nuances of a show jumper’s thighs. Clenches and grips discernible only to the trained eye have me turning on a sixpence.

At a spilt in our route under one of the bridges, The Rose senses her herding skills may be too subtle. There’s a particularly fascinating book stall right in the middle of our trajectory and she knows my weakness. Thrusting me in front of her and speaking at ‘Full Metal Jacket’ volume her battle cry is:

“ Choose. NOW. Left or right? DO NOT change your mind”

It was a great exhibition. We had a lovely lunch overlooking the Thames.

She had to feed me.

I’ve sprained my wrist!