11th January, 2008

The year has barely started and I’m off to Vegas where I have some interesting duties to perform next week. More on that later. For the time being, I thought why not start the year as I ended the last...with some banal stories.


My travel plans have been somewhat disrupted by the fact that the airline I booked my flight with went bust just before Christmas so now I have to fly to Los Angeles on some second rate Kiwi airline, hang around there for half a day before flying on to Vegas with the enticing prospect of doing the same in reverse a few days later. Whilst on the subject of travel, in this happy frame of mind, and still feeling a bit under the weather, I can add that my commute has been a shocker so far this year. The other day I was forced onto the Liverpool St line which is a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Rattling slowly down the line somewhere between Harlow Town and Tottenham Hale, the carriage suddenly smelt like someone had shifted every single public urinal in East London onto the 5.42am train from Cambridge. All became clear, just after our tickets had been inspected, when an old tramp wandered into our exclusive carriage and helped himself to a seat. OMG, I thought, it’s Rocky ( some has been Australian broker who used to pester me ). The stench was excruciating and, you know, it was really something of a relief when he lit up a cigarette butt, Camel non-filter I believe, found in the depths of his soiled coat. I have to say even I, pompous git that I am, felt a twinge of guilt, when he was ushered out of First Class back into the cattle shed by the returning “revenue protector” who patiently explained to him that his ticket was for economy class, although it was also, in fact, more than two years out of date.


As for Hen, 2008 has begun in characteristic form; recently returned to school, I was somewhat surprised when she told me yesterday how annoyed she was at the prospect of a trip to Oxford on some art thingy this coming Sunday morning. I thought she liked art and bus trips, but I almost fell off my seat when she said she was upset about the fact she would miss Chapel. Hen as you might imagine, is not a “get thee to a nunnery” sort, but indeed it transpires there is no remarkable conversion to report. Church this Sunday would, I now appreciate having delved deeper into this disappointing development, have been her first opportunity to parade her new suit in front of the school.