Will and I were on our way back to the castle after getting some food this evening when, just a couple of minutes from home, he suddenly stopped pushing my chair and started pacing up and down, staring intently at the ground.
I watched him for a bit, perplexed by his erratic behaviour. But I had to find out what was going on.
TH: What are you doing?
Will: There’s always been a brick on the ground here that sticks up. It sticks up a lot, so I always make sure it’s in the middle of the chair. But now it’s gone.
The small patch of pavement in question is the cobbled entrance to an old sausage factory. Will kept pacing, trying to work out where the mystery brick had gone, and searching for evidence of a replacement. He looked like someone frantically hunting for a priceless missing ring.
All this was in the rain by the way. But despite the dampness and my scepticism about whether the brick existed in the first place, I was more and more intrigued by the peculiar mystery, largely because of Will’s persistence and unwavering commitment to the quest.
After ten minutes spent studying the wet pavement, (I’m not joking – literally ten minutes) he conceded temporary defeat and we made the short journey home. On the way he mused about whether any other support workers would’ve noticed and remembered the brick, and whether he should write a letter to the owner of the building to ask if they’d moved it.
I was baffled but amused, and I had to thank Will for giving me an intriguing subject for today’s blog post.