You forget how big oranges are

I went for a chop around the Essex lanes last week. I have been given a Garmin as I tend to get hopelessly lost. This is mainly due to daydreaming.

Having spent at least an hour diligently plotting and loading an epic route, I was Lost in Essex within 20 minutes.

It was on my third recce of one of the many Easters that an old chap, enjoying the late sunshine in his front garden, enquired as to what exactly I was doing.

I pointed at the evil Garmin, then the road, then shrugged. He suggested I join him for an orange.

I padded up and sat next to him as he silently took an orange from its brown paper bag. He balanced it in one hand, took out a small knife and skillfully cut it into segments. He was not a small man, but the orange looked massive in his grasp. I guess I’d forgotten how big they are.

“Do you ever hold one and pretend you are God, controlling a planet” I enquired, earnestly.

He looked at me. Looked away. Leaned back and said; “No”

Oh. I concluded.

“But”, he said, thoughtfully, “I would if it was a grapefruit”

Which, of course, was the perfect answer.