Paddington’s Finest Hour

“IT’S NONE OF my business,” said the policeman, “but there’s an old codger in the back of your car and he’s got a sandwich on his head. Leastways, it was there a moment ago when he raised his hat – I don’t know where it is now.”

“He would hardly have a sandwich on top of his hat,” said Mr Brown, easing the driving-side window slightly shut in order to protect himself from the rain. “He isn’t English, and he has his funny little ways.”

“You mean he’s one of them illegal immigrants?” said the policeman.

“I wouldn’t call him that,” said Mr Brown cautiously. “He does have a Peruvian passport, so you could say he’s here on an extended holiday. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but just to be on the safe side he keeps a marmalade sandwich under his hat in case he has an emergency.”

“Heaven help him if anyone from Health and Safety catches him at it,” retorted the policeman. “They’re going to blow a gasket and I wouldn’t blame them. I only hope it doesn’t catch on.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone else doing it,” said Mr Brown.

“And he certainly isn’t an old codger,” broke in Mrs Brown.

“Pardon me, ma’am.” The policeman lowered himself until he was level with the front passenger seat. “But he could do with a good shave whatever age he is. That’s all I can say.”

“In that case, if you don’t mind, I’ll close this window,” said Mr Brown, seizing the opportunity. “I’m getting soaked.”

“You’re getting soaked!” repeated the policeman. There was a rustle of oilskin. “Wait until you’re where I’m standing …” The rest of what he was about to say was drowned by the sound of rain beating against glass as Mr Brown beat him to it and wound the window tightly shut.

“Was that wise, Henry?” asked Mrs Brown. “He’s getting his notebook out now.”

“Good luck to him,” said Mr Brown. “Catch me getting out of the car in this weather, Mary. I haven’t even got a top coat. And the chances of him writing anything in his notebook are pretty remote.”

“But we are parked on a double yellow line,” said Mrs Brown. “On a bend.”

“Along with a dozen other cars,” said Mr Brown. “Goodness knows what’s going on ahead of us. There’s nothing coming the other way.”

Rummaging in her handbag, Mrs Brown removed a handkerchief, and having folded it carefully into a small pad, made use of it to wipe a hole in the steamed-up windscreen. She gazed mournfully at the spot where they had come to rest.

“I don’t remember it being quite so bad for a long time,” she said. “It’s still raining cats and dogs.”

Paddington peered over her shoulder. Although he couldn’t see any actual cats, or any stray dogs for that matter, he caught the general drift of the conversation and given the raindrops were literally bouncing off the pavement ahead of them like things possessed, he put two and two together and made five.

“I expect it would be worse in Darkest Peru, Mrs Brown,” he said. “They don’t have any pavements there, but it might even rain cats and bears.”

“Heaven forbid!” exclaimed Mr Brown.

“Things said in jest often have a habit of turning out to be true, Henry,” warned Mrs Brown. “Are you quite sure you want to stop and post a letter? Can’t it wait a day or two?”

“Unfortunately, no,” said Mr Brown. “It’s the main reason why I came out in the first place.”

“In that case, why bring all the rest of us with you?” said Mrs Brown. “As things have turned out it would have been far better watching the rain through our living room windows instead of sitting in your car getting all steamed up.”