Beauty’s murmurs on the dance floor

PAV’S PATCH:

SHE looked gorgeous across the dancefloor. As I walked towards her I couldn’t fail to be impressed by her figure, her long legs and the way the lights reflected off her blonde hair.

I was with a party from Hyde Cricket Club and was actually making my way to talk to one of the lads, but faced with this vision of stiletto-heeled, mini-skirted beauty I had to stop and admire the view.

For a moment or two I was falling in love and then it happened — she spoke.

Turning to my friend Lee, she revealed a broad Manchester (not Lancashire) accent and screeched the words: “Is vee anyboddy standin’ eeyoh.” My dream was shattered.

The reason I have imparted this story is to emphasise the fact that you most certainly cannot judge a book by its cover. Appearances can be very deceptive.

A lady I know became very frightened when she heard a horn being sounded and realised it was the car behind. The vehicle, full of young lads, got closer and closer, flashing its lights and she responded by winding up her window and making sure all the doors were locked. At the same time, she fumbled in her handbag for her mobile phone.

However, far from wanting to attack her, the five hoodies were trying to point out that one of her brake lights wasn’t working.

I encountered a similar situation, although in reverse, when I covered Wigan Magistrates’ Court many years ago. I felt sorry for a young lad who arrived in the dock looking ill at ease in his collar and tie.

As he nervously bowed to the bench, I wondered what on earth he could have done. Surely some trifling matter? But no, he had walked down a street and cracked about 20 windscreens. When I found that out I wanted him hanged.

However, my worst case of being deceived by appearance was at the funeral of a friend.

Gaz was what you would call a rough diamond with a heart of gold, do anything for anyone — you know the description, except that in his case it was true.

While I waited in a pew, two hard-looking guys in leather jackets sat next to me. They had tattoos on their ears. “Oh dear,” I thought, “I hope they behave with decorum.”

As the organist struck up the first hymn I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth, only for the one next to me to start singing “Abide With Me” in a falsetto, as though his pants were too tight.

Like they say, you never can tell.