A Close Shave & A Chance Meeting

I've been up-and-down these past few days. I almost got myself killed walking to work yesterday morning. A car almost struck me as the little green man was on. But this vehicle wasn't just "a car". Impossibly dark tinted windows. A picture of a crown where the registration plate should be. Small, Victorian state flag in gold instead of blue in place atop the middle of the grille. It was the vice-regal limousine (or, as you Americans would put it "gubernatorial").

Anyway, I finished crossing the street, the limousine crawled around the corner and pulled into the side-street. The rear passenger-side door opened and His Excellency got out and strode over to me, extending his hand.

"You all right, son?"

"Fine thankyou, sir. Bit shaken."

"Your name?"

I gave him my name.

"I'd offer a lift, but we've no room."

No, between your driver, two burly Gold Badges (protective services officers), and - possibly - your wife, there would not be any room for my 6'1" 170-odd pound frame.

"It's all right, sir, it's a fine day and I haven't far to go. <name> Chambers."

"You're sure you're all right?" His voice is steeped with care, in a throwback to his days as a doctor.

"Yes, sir. Be on your way."

With a smile, he returned to the car and gave me a polite wave as the driver reversed and threw in a U-turn and sped on its way.

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