Tina's Zoo

We were late getting to Tina's on Thursday.

Charles and I had been leafleting in Govan. Or rather, I was driving and Charles was leafleting, turning on the charm to persuade every voluntary organisation, housing and social work office, pensioners' lunch club, doctors' surgery and school to take our leaflets advertising the home library service.

Our delivery service is literally dying on its feet. It's the nature of the clientele: we take books to the elderly and disabled (some of our folks are both) and we've lost four clients in the past two years one way or another. But we're convinced there are possible clients out there who don't even know we exist.

We've stopped waiting for head office to take the lead on this. One of the Elder Park librarians designed an A5 leaflet and we've blitzed Ibrox as far as Paisley Road Toll and, on Thursday, Govan. Next week it'll be Linthouse and Drumoyne. Then we'll go back and see if the leaflets are being picked up - and leave more, if need be.

So it was just on school-chucking-out time when we got to Tina's cafe. The usual suspects were mostly there already, waiting for their weans. Once the kids arrived, the zoo started.

The lassie at the table behind us was totally stressing out about being short of time to get her boys to the doctor in Cardonald but she wasn't for giving up her roll n fried egg, tattie scone and beans or the boys' rolls n sausage, but settled for waving her arms about a lot and giving the occasional screech: 'Comeoan, hurry up!'

The table in front had the usual group: CiC (Care in the Community) and her two foul-mouthed pals. CiC is off her meds, as she has been telling us for weeks and getting louder every time we see her. She sits where she can see Charles. I keep telling him he's got a lumber there but I don't think he's keen.

The deaf old ladies were also in having tea and cakes off a very attractive wee cake stand Tina has brought in. Three of them, maybe in their late 70s, unable to hear at the best of times but adding to the bedlam by trying to drown out CiC and her pals.

One of the regulars, Ponytail, was missing but no sooner had a dozen assorted kids and parents come in than he appeared. He blew his nose dramatically as he arrived and shouted: 'Haw, Tina, ye'll need tae get me a coffee. A'm dying here.' Of course, that got everybody's attention and we noticed at once that apart from his shoes (with the laces trailing behind him), he was dressed for bed in a rather fetching pair of wine-red jammies with white cats on them.

By the time Charles and I had finished our coffees and rolls n fried egg, the stressed out mammy and her boys had gone, the queue had died down and CiC was quietly feeding her wee girls and herself Tina's home-made stew, mashed potatoes and cabbage. It looked very tasty.

Behind the counter, Tina was holding her head. 'You got a bottle o gin back there, Tina?' I asked as we were leaving. 'Aye,' she said, 'And I need it!'