On Not Going Commando...

...just had an astonishing note from my ever fragrant correspondent, with a remarkable tale that must be further told.

Apparently, it transpires, there she was on her way North to some general church bash - her thing really not mine - centred on how to revive certain obscure liturgical practices that the new Arch has instructed should once more be brought to the fore. (He may command but he cannot control is my view of the matter, and I think you'll find me right in the long run.)

Be that as it may, my EFC, as is her wont, has been journeying today by train not motor car. Oft have I remonstrated with her that public transport is to be shunned at all and any times. My line is ever thus: "The buses and the trains themselves may be all very splendid, on-time and planet-saving even; but until and unless the public using such conveyances can be trusted not to threaten one's peace of mind, or even one's very life, they are no place for a lady."

She won't have it of course, being a more trusting soul than I. Well, had it today, in spades even, she has I now learn. (Fear not, she is not harmed though there has been a rocky moment or two vis a vis personal dignity.)

For there she was, it seems, minding as ever her good business, reading some worthy tome or other, when some lurching idiot fellow passenger, passing by her seat, managed to dump a near full bottle of wine onto her sweetly trousered lap. Had the wine been white or the trousers red the disaster, as such, would have been at the thin end of the scale. Sadly, au contraire as it were, it was a good strong claret chucked onto an elegant, cream linen sort of garment. Pretty thick that, you'll agree.

So nothing for it apparently but off with the sodden, stained and utterly unwearable trews! Now changing one's trousers in a public place is not the sort of thing any gal should have to do, but being made of stern stuff my EFC no doubt teeth were gritted and smiles kept fixed as the operation was completed with maximum panache and minimum fuss.

Or so one would have presumed. Missing quite though from the equation was a replacement pair. The EFC was travelling sans baggage, never a wise move. One off, but not then one on. Awkward, you'll agree. But sit tight, place book as necessary, keep smiling and hope for journey's end.

But oh dear no, for it seems that a necessary junction change was looming and nothing for it but to sprint down the platform with jumper held as low as possible, hoping not for arrest or other assault.

And this is where it gets really interesting, though if the tale has not already caught your fullest attention then you are a dull cove indeed. You have doubtless heard these heartening tales of people plucked from peril at sea or off wild mountain sides courtesy of their mobile telephones etc., etc? Well this rescue - as it was to turn out to be - was most happily executed through the medium of that singular phenomenon of none other than 'Twitter'.

Frantic signals were sent back and forth across the ether: "Help I'm stuck.", "Don't panic.", "What else is there to do?", "Phone a friend!", "Can't, no signal!" - that sort of thing, with various others chipping in saying how all perfectly splendid and side-splittingly funny it was. Helpful that last no doubt.

And then the serendipitous epiphany: "Have you looked in your ever-present carpet bag? Perhaps you are carrying a large scarf, such as the one from India your mother gave you many years ago, that would serve for a passing fair skirt, only you've somehow managed to overlook the fact?" (About the max. for a Twitter I believe.) "By crikey, how right you are. Foolish gal that I am, I do happen to have about my person - or rather within my travelling bag - a scarf of the very kind you describe! How could I have been so foolish as not to think of it before. The day is...." (Beyond the Twitter max. that one.)

One last - and I must say deeply puzzling - 'tweet' came through: "Well at least I wasn't 'going commando' today!" Can't imagine for the life of me what my EFC meant by that.

Must ask H for explanation. Or perhaps better not. One senses trouble. Will certainly be eyeing YouTube tonight for evidence of the whole affair. Bound to be someone who filmed the scene. They always do these days. Member of the public I shouldn't be surprised to hear. That should teach her!