Andrew
I heard something about Andrew today; he told a friend that no one in our town likes him because he’s “too smart”. He IS a very intelligent person, but now I’m piqued because he is arrogant.
Yesterday I wrote for almost an hour in this weblog, and then my browser quit. That is why there isn’t a glowing report about an interesting exchange with this old Hungarian dude already. He asked me to make Blackberry Jam for him, and I sold him that and gave him a head of our own garlic.
I also asked if I could take his picture. I think I took him by surprise, and he said normally he would refuse. I even told him that he would be on the Internet. Friends who witnessed this exchange were amazed that I “got away with” photographing Andrew, as he is very worried that others will find out where he lives.
Andrew comes into our little town on the train once per month to shop and presumably exchange pithy words of wisdom with SOMEONE. He calls me “Lady”, as in, “Lady, that was good jam, but I’d like some blackberry jam without papaya in it, and not as much sugar, and not in those fancy jars, but in bigger jars.” When I gave him the head of garlic, he said that he was going to photocopy some information about the medicinal properties of it and leave it somewhere in town for me next time. Okaayyyy
So this is Andrew, one of Robson Valley’s colourful characters. I haven’t told you where he lives, and I’m told that his Hungarian last name is virtually unpronounceable by we English. Just as well.
