“Find a penny; pick it up and all day long you’ll have good luck”. This is a maxim which, remarkably, worked once when I was walking through Edinburgh, a place where a stray penny on the street is a rare sight indeed. I was just musing on whether I would be fortunate enough in the St. Andrews Old Course Ballot to be allocated a tee time for the following day when I spotted a little bronze coin and managed to swoop down to collect it just before an old lady got there. Kerching. Moments later I struck gold in the shape of a 9.00am tee off. Perfect. So this morning when I boarded the 5.36amtrain from Whittlesford Parkway and saw not just one, but two penny pieces on the carriage floor I pocketed them gleefully. I decided I would head off and buy a lottery ticket. Within seconds however my euphoric state was doused. Throbbing out from my Blackberry screen was an email from a disgruntled client in HK for whom I had arranged a visit to a Chinese company involved in the agri-sector.
Morning David
I turned up nice and promptly on the 18th floor of the Harbour Centre at 0910 this morning. I could see I was at the right office as the reception desk had a little ornament of a cow on it. However the office was locked and in darkness. I rang the bell at 0915 but no one seemed to be in at all. After several more attempts I called the contact phone number and could hear it ringing out inside, but still no sign of life. At 0930 I gave up.
So that was a great start to my day as well as his.
I have had a run of bad luck actually. Many many years ago I went on a very expensive and logistically unbelievably complicated trip to shoot duck in Manchuria. There were five of us red-necks and we were there for a week. In total we shot 6 duck which worked out at something like £1,500 per bird. Two weeks ago, as you may recall me telling you, my son and I went on a similarly challenging northern journey this time to the Arctic Circle to fish for brown trout and char, camping on a wind-swept spot above a lake and in the foothills of Kebnekaise, Sweden’s highest mountain. Now I’m the first to admit I am no fisherman. I went armed with my daughter Lottie’s rod, a box of Monte Cristo No 4’s, a bottle of Talisker Dark Storm and a good book. But we were assured the place was teeming with fish so I fancied my chances. Bob is keen as mustard of course as is Sophie’s Swedish cousin Henrik who was with us for this adventure, all 6ft 8ins of him. No sooner had the helicopter dropped us off in the wilderness and we erected our tent than they were away, thrashing the rivers and lakes for all it was worth. Meantime I wandered 50 yards to the water and had a few cursory casts before the absence of instant gratification and quite a serious tangle made the option of a glass of whisky and collecting wood for our fire much the preferable choice of activity. They returned four hours later by which time I had a great blaze raging, all ready for some brown trout stuffed with herbs and salt on which to sizzle. Sad to say they had not even come close to catching a fish. That was Wednesday. It was the same story on Thursday and on Friday. Nada. Not a sausage. Bob saw an Arctic char at one point, but it was ill and swimming round in circles on its last legs so to speak. He fished and fished manfully and in between sessions stalked reindeer ( with his camera ), but our luck was out. The fish just didn’t want to know. It was a beautiful spot though. Oh, all right, here’s a picture for you. And late on Saturday, our last full day, we ( yes……I contributed ) caught five brown trout between us and they were totally delicious so all’s well that ends well.
And here am I bemoaning my luck but come to think of it the reason I wasn’t here last Friday was I was up in Fife for the Big Stick, our annual family golf competition. Yes folks. I only went and won it again. That’s not luck really though is it?
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