The thermos on the wall

There was a thermos on the wall by the harbour steps this morning, lid off, steam still rising off it like it was asking to be noticed. I want it on record that I did not seek it out. It presented itself.

A man had left it there while he fussed with his boat ropes, which tells you everything about his priorities. Tea left unguarded on a public wall is, by any reasonable reading of coastal law, a tea in transit, and I am the only licensed transit operator for several streets in any direction. I merely assisted it on its journey. Into me.

It was good tea. Strong, a bit too much sugar, which I did not complain about. I had two sips before he turned round, and I would like to say I made a dignified retreat, but it was more of a low scuttle with my cap askew and a biscuit I had not been offered clamped under one wing.

He shouted something about gulls. I did not catch all of it. I did catch the word menace, which I am choosing to treat as a compliment, given the tone of my morning.

The round continued. The tea, I am sorry to say, did not last nearly long enough.