Ten Four, Good buddy

My brother once had a CB radio and if I caught him in a good mood and gave him 50p, he'd let me play on it too.  This was back in the late 70s and very early 80s when yours truly was a teenager and I was well into this new mode of communication. It was different and new and more fun than ringing schoolmates from the phone at the bottom of the stairs by the cold and draughty front door, while my dad yelled through the wall: "How long are you going to be on that thing?  I'm not made of bloody money, you know!"

Anyway, I became a dab hand on the CB and had the lingo down pat. It was all ten four good buddy and er, stuff like that.  I can't remember any of it now apart from my handle being Evil Edna, after the cartoon character.  Anyway, Evil Edna struck up a CB friendship with a young lad going by the handle of Wonderhorse. It was a friendship that developed over the airwaves for weeks. He knew my brother and so one day he told me he'd pop round to see me, we'd meet. We'd meet?  No, actually we never would. But he did pop round. He knocked at the front door and my mam went to anwer. Here's how the conversation went.

Mam: "Hello, son."
Wonderhorse: "I've come to see Evil Edna."
Mam: "Eh?" and then, shouting up the stairs to me, because I was, as always, in my bedroom with my books and LPs.  "There's a Wonderhorse at the door for you!"
Me, shouting down the stairs, mortified and terrified. "I'm not coming down."
Mam: "She's not coming down, son."
Wonderhorse (who I like to imagine was in tears by this point). "Oh. Ok then, tara."
Mam: "Tara, son"

So, if you're reading this and you are Wonderhorse, all I can say is I'm sorry for not coming down. But thanks for popping round.