This particular friend lives in a large imposing house. Yesterday on an impromptu walking visit, I saw a medium sized fork lift truck by the gateway of the house, trying to place its forks (or are they tines?) through floppy handles,in order to lift a builders bag of stones.

As I entered the gateway to walk up the long path to the house, the truck operator got off his vehicle and spoke.

"There was a hole in the first bag, look"

"Is that the reason for the little piles of stones I see?"

I thought, though didn't say, I reckoned the path could benefit from those

"Aye that's right."

I commiserated, "oh dear, where was it meant to go."

"Up the side of the house, but that van's in the way."

"Do you know whose van it is?"

"Gas service. I can't get in there. What should I do?" he asked me.

" Pardon?"

"Where should the bags go now?"

Realisation dawned: I thought, he thought I lived there. How wrong could I be.

"Sorry," I said, "I'm just visiting."

"Do you work here?" He demanded.

I repeated "I'm just visiting, I can't help you."

I suggested he spoke to the people who lived in the house, or I could ask them to have a word with him.

"Oh, no," the guy said, "the gentleman's not home today."

"So what do you do here then?" the man demanded of me again. I repeated I was visiting.

"Perhaps you could come back another time with the bags." I suggested.

"I'm just doing an obligement for someone. I'll put this bag at the side of the house so it's off the road."

I nodded and said, "Well, there's no point in me visiting if there's no-one home, bye then."

"Oh" said the guy with surprise "You really are just visiting."

I smiled.