Mum Overboard

I witnessed something quite spectacular in the doctors' surgery a couple of weeks ago. A be-tattooed biker type fellow, complete with leather jacket and dark 'don't mess with me/ even look at me' glasses, sat on the far corner of the seat nearest the door.  Short of waiting in the car park, he couldn't have been further away from the rest of us.  A few sniffling patients were exchanging pleasantries, along the lines of 'Haven't we been waiting ages etc?' but no one glanced in the direction of the aforementioned biker.  No one that is except a scruffy toddler who had set her heart on him reading her a story. One by one she brought him the dog-eared story books, crossing the entire width of the waiting room with each one.  Fortunately, her mum didn't stop her.   Angry Biker was accepting each gift bestowed so generously upon him; he was even smiling.  Yes, angry 'don't mess with me biker', who I would have avoided at all costs, turned