An unexpected Mark
Woke up at 5:30 this morning brooding about this latest pitch. Took the early train into work to get a flying start, and fortunately things have finally fallen into place, and so today was by far the best day this week.
On a Pooterish note. At six had a very cheeky beer with the Gnome (real name Mike) at the work bar. There were two others there: Mike Ferg and Mike O. I looked at them alarmed and said urgently: say nothing secret! Why? one of them said. Because the bar is fully miked! Nobody thought this was funny. And on yet another Pooterish note... I got trapped in a toilet cubicle at work and when I jerked the door open, it somehow viciously rebounded, slamming into the side of my head. Afterwards I read my horoscope, fingering the lump in my scalp, it said I might have an accident caused by frustrated ego energies. Very helpful.
The train home, still gripped by the Lord of the Rings, and playing Zuma on my mobile phone. I got a call from Mark apologising for being late. Turns out we'd got our wires crossed about the date when we were supposed to meet. And it turned out to be tonight, so we met in the Battle of Trafalgar and then wandered down into the Lanes and had a fairly pleasant Thai meal.
He is a great raconteur, and was enjoying stories about him tangling with a particularly springy and aggressive breed of Italian sheep dressed only in a dressing gown and wellies, after they had been vandalising his garden. Or appearing on the front page of the Brighton Argus dressed as a pantomime dame while protesting against a rubbish dump near his village.
We walked back through town to the station in the rain, and I saw him safely into a cab at the station before heading home.
Woke up at 5:30 this morning brooding about this latest pitch. Took the early train into work to get a flying start, and fortunately things have finally fallen into place, and so today was by far the best day this week.
On a Pooterish note. At six had a very cheeky beer with the Gnome (real name Mike) at the work bar. There were two others there: Mike Ferg and Mike O. I looked at them alarmed and said urgently: say nothing secret! Why? one of them said. Because the bar is fully miked! Nobody thought this was funny. And on yet another Pooterish note... I got trapped in a toilet cubicle at work and when I jerked the door open, it somehow viciously rebounded, slamming into the side of my head. Afterwards I read my horoscope, fingering the lump in my scalp, it said I might have an accident caused by frustrated ego energies. Very helpful.
The train home, still gripped by the Lord of the Rings, and playing Zuma on my mobile phone. I got a call from Mark apologising for being late. Turns out we'd got our wires crossed about the date when we were supposed to meet. And it turned out to be tonight, so we met in the Battle of Trafalgar and then wandered down into the Lanes and had a fairly pleasant Thai meal.
He is a great raconteur, and was enjoying stories about him tangling with a particularly springy and aggressive breed of Italian sheep dressed only in a dressing gown and wellies, after they had been vandalising his garden. Or appearing on the front page of the Brighton Argus dressed as a pantomime dame while protesting against a rubbish dump near his village.
We walked back through town to the station in the rain, and I saw him safely into a cab at the station before heading home.
Comments