If I ever do manage to get out for a quickie down to Canary Wharf and back during the lunch break, it normally takes more energy forcing myself to leave the work station, the pleasures of serving you and dragging myself down to Nomura’s basement changing room to put on my kit than I use up actually running. But on Wednesday…well it wasn’t that hard. At the risk of boring you rigid let me take you through my morning.
It started with me catching the 5.38 by the skin of my teeth. Psycho Susan, the remaining lurcher puppy ( previously went under the name Bear ) and who is indeed joining the ranks of the landed gentry if m’Lud is as good as his word and pops by after shooting in Norfolk this weekend, had taken rather a long time to do her stuff when I took her out at 5.00am. I then had to drive more circumspectly than usual owing to the icy conditions. On that subject, I had been very pleased with myself when I got home the night before at the foresight I had to warn Bob, who would be driving back from Newmarket later on, to be wary of the slippery roads and to use his gears rather than brakes to control his speed. I had noted with a certain smug satisfaction, whilst Psycho was pootling about her leisurely business, that the Polo was safely parked in our drive. I might add I gave the car only a cursory glance. Apart from the fact I was already running late, the car is held together with at least two rolls of Gorilla Strong Duct Tape so anything more than a quick look is just upsetting and rather pointless, but at least it was in the right place.
Having it made it safely to the office I found I had a bit of good stuff to grapple with in the shape of an initiation on HK Exchanges, some comments on Samsung Electronics and a note on Indian autos ( coincidentally ) so I got on with that, though, whilst I know you wouldn’t have noticed, I must admit I was a bit distracted by a nagging concern over Jimmy down in Bristol. The thought came to me that a little ( unprecedented ) gesture of moral support in the shape of a modest food parcel would cheer her up as she grapples with meeting various essay deadlines. I had literally just pressed click to send – some goats cheese and salted almonds - for delivery the following morning when Sophie dropped me a line saying Jimmy had rung, fed up with the cold and filthy student house, and was coming home that very afternoon. Aaaaagh. Why do I bother?! I cancelled the order. Then spoke to Jimmy who had decided to stay in Bristol on hearing that I was sending a food parcel. I reinstated the order. So that was all fine then.
The phone rang. It was Sophie again, this time to relay the news that Bob had skidded off the road on the way to work and the car was stuck in a ditch. I handled this dire development with a degree of equanimity. He was fine and, after all, we’ve been there. I’ve done it three times actually. Once when I was well on track to break the all time record for a drive from Portree to Kirriemuir in my mother’s Honda Civic and I got caught out by a rather tight corner on the approach to Blairgowrie. The milk tanker I had narrowly missed kindly stopped and pulled me out. Remarkably the only damage was a bit of a scratch to the bumper. The car was white. I touched it up with a small can of Airfix model paint and she was none the wiser.
But, back in the present, you might imagine after the morning I’d had, I positively skipped out of the office to let off a bit of steam and, by the way, was back within the hour running one of my fastest times ever, though still not up to Georgette Lenoir standards. That’s another record, like Portree to Kirrie, I am beginning to fear, that will forever elude me.
Ah the weekend….deep joy…and you know the thing I’m most excited about? I’m making a goat curry for Sunday. Not even kidding. That’s how full a life a life I lead!
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