The innocence of youth - and of an older gent

I’m still not really sure what came over me the other day. There I was, driving along the narrow country roads near our home, squinting through the windscreen as the rain came lashing down.

And then I saw him – a young guy trudging, head down, against the wind and precipitation. Now I’m no expert but it did seem he was not brilliantly clothed up for the inclement weather. Perhaps he’d seen a different weather forecast then me. You know, on one of those satellite thingy channels.

Only one thought came into my head – offer the poor, soaking wet chap a lift. After all, judging by the place we both found ourselves in, he must have been walking for quite a while.

So I slowed down, edged up beside him and wound down the passenger window. “Are you alright there?” I enquired. “Want a lift to the village shop?" Not sure why I said the shop as I had no idea where he was heading but it seemed better than saying Woodbridge, some 35 miles away where I was heading, or the local hospital.

“Naw, I’m alright” he said, refusing to make face-to-face contact with me. Then the penny dropped. Here was a 61-year old man with long grey hair and dressed all in black, as is my want, asking a young lad if he wanted a lift in my car. I might just as well have offered him a sweetie.

I muttered OK and then raced off, mumbling things like “silly sod” and “idiot”. That’s two descriptions of me, by the way. Because I KNOW you never offer lifts to strangers nowadays.

We are not in the heady days of the 70s anymore, when teenagers like me hitched lifts around the county in order to save money to buy my next pack of 10 Players No.6. My older reader will remember them.

They were the ones with the coupons inside – smoke enough of the brand and you could eventually get a snazzy pair of multi-coloured swimming shorts. I’ve still got them. Can’t get into them, mind.

And those were also the days when drivers, predominantly upstanding citizens, felt duty bound to take any long-haired, flares-wearing, clog-clad young person to the nearest town/ bus stop/ station.

Then Stranger Danger came along and we were told that everyone who stops to give a hitchhiker a lift is a paedo sex maniac. Oh the innocence of youth. And the innocence of an old git. I won’t be stopping for any strangers again.

I just hope the rain was heavy enough to stop him clocking my car registration.