Sticky issue

There are a few chaps who hobble round the village on sticks. People have tried on numerous occasions to tell me their names and about their histories but I seem to lose track. There are at least 3 or 4 of them. I wonder if when they pass each other in the street, they give a salutary wave as do vintage car owners passing another such vehicle on the road, or motorcyclists or tandem enthusiasts as in ‘we’re in this special club’. Well anyway, one day, my next door neighbours happens to mention that so and so, the man with the sticks fell over outside the butchers, passed out and by the time the medics got to him, he was dead. ‘Oooh, that’s awful!’ I explained, struggling to decipher which one of the hobbling band it could be. It must be that one, I decided, given the description ‘the man with the sticks’ that it was Culprit A. So there I was on a Monday morning sat at the doctors surgery and happened to mention that this person had died. There was a collective gasp from the other eavesdropping patients. Yes, I elaborated, there he was, clutching his bag of sausages (well, you need to embellish a bit to make the story a bit more interesting, add a few more details here and there), I think the ham was on special offer that morning (as if this was a relevant detail in the poor man’s demise) and he tripped, whacked his head and that was it. There was a general murmuring as the news sunk in. Hmm, I thought, they’re going to think I’m well informed, not bad for an ex-pat, finger on the pulse, hot bed of information. I nodded back knowingly. Anyway, later on that day, I was trotting back home when, horror of horrors, there he was, Lazarus, returned from the dead, phoenix from the ashes, the hobbling man, hobbling towards me. My first thought was ‘.....I thought you were six feet under’.... in fact six feet over because Italians are generally buried in highrise vaults, swiftly followed by ‘uh oh, there goes my reputation...’. I scowled at him, he scowled back, probably heard how I’d tried to dispose of him in the doctor’s waiting room. I had visions of his home receiving lots of condolence calls, cards, flowers, wailing friends and relatives because that English woman said he had passed away.....er, well, sort of......Hmmm, still time to do away with him....I brushed the evil thought away, no doubt he’d already been spotted and the game was up. Ahh, the importance of getting your facts right.....