THE APPLESHADE FILES
					File Five
"Six months. Six months! And I'm still waiting! Had one done, but not the other!" The old lady croons to the person next to her (who appears not to listen to her ravings);
"N.H.S. isn't what it used to be, eh?" The number 53 bus rumbles across Blackheath.
"My granddaughter, Mary.. or is it Stephen? No, definitely Mary.. well, she says its because of all these coloured doctors. Knew an Indian doctor once, I did.. he was nice. Couldn't understand a word he said, but he meant well. He's locked up now; tried to kill his wife for the insurance. Or was it the insulation? I forget, me..." The person beside her seems oblivious to her presence. She natters on anyway.
"Played the pools religiously I have, for forty years, but have I won anything? Have I won anything? 'course I bloody haven't! Still, got to be in it to win it, eh love? Yeah.. s'what my Albert used to say. Aw.. Albert. I do miss him. I say, I'd like to pass away peacefully, like he did, in his sleep, bless him... not kicking and screaming like the people in his car. Oh, this your stop love?"
The old woman shifts a little to one side as the Reservoir Frog stands. He looks down at the frail old lady and smiles as he presses the bell. She returns a craggy grin. Something slips unnoticed from his webby hand, and disappears into the depths of the old girls volumous handbag.
Mr Frog is at least fifty yards from the bus when the hand grenade explodes, showering the immediate area with pieces of glass, hip replacement and granny. As the explosion abates and the screams begin, he watches the tattered remains of a pools coupon flutter idly to the ground, a fluttering whirl of Wrexham vs. Scunthorpe score draw and Spot the Ball. He pauses, midstep, and smiles.
"Remarkable."
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