Weasel never left the UK. He went on holiday either to Torquay or the Isle of White.
He didn’t drive, never saw the need, and went everywhere by coach.
When he travelled he always wore a smart shirt and his blazer bearing the crest of his beloved York City.
The man was devoted.
On the way down to Torquay one year the coach suffered a blow out on the motorway and was forced to pull onto the hard shoulder.
“I’m afraid we’ve got to wait for a replacement coach,” says the driver, “but nobody is allowed to stay on the coach. Health and safety, and all that.”
Off they all get and stand on behind the crash barrier on the grass verge.
Weasel relaxes with a cig, but then a little old lady comes up to him.
She squints at his blazer and badge. “Excuse me driver, but can I get onto the coach for a moment? I need to go to the toilet.”
He lets her think he’s the driver for some weird reason.
“Sorry love, nobody allowed on the coach when we’re on the hard shoulder. Health and safety.”
The old dear looks frantic.
“I really need to go! What can I do? If I don’t go soon I’ll have an accident!”
“Why don’t you go down there?”
Weasel points don the embankment to some scrubland.
“I can’t get down there! I’m seventy six!”
“Don’t worry madam,” says Weasel chivalrously. “Take my arm. I’ll lead you down.”
Ever so carefully, Weasel guides the old dear down the embankment to the bottom.
“Just nip behind those bushes,” he advises in his strange self adopted official capacity. “I’ll wait here for you.”
She looks understandably nervous.
“I can’t go when I know your here. It’s a little embarrassing!”
“Don’t worry madam!” says Weasel, “I’ll stand up at the top of the embankment. You give me a shout when you’re all done.”
And with that, Weasel climbs up and respectfully turns his back to the field below.
He starts another cigarette, but then the replacement coach arrives.
Weasel stubs out his fag, climbs aboard with the other passengers and off they go…
Ten miles and several frantic head counts later, Weasel suddenly remembers.
The coach swerves off at the next exit, about turn, a further thirteen miles back to the next exit…
They found her where he had left her, absolutely distraught.
Weasel couldn’t see how he was in any way to blame.