This week I’ve managed to avoid having to rush out with the police on cases. I am now in the Hampshire countryside enjoying a little break from London.
Just kindly advice…don’t come near Romsey or North Baddesley…we are grid-locked for the weekend.
@Rust-Cohle and I were walking to my place from the station having been at Southampton’s Music in the City when we were flagged down by an elderly couple in a VW Lupo.
They were a bit frazzled and confused. “Can you tell me how to get to Bournemouth?”, they asked. “Well I wouldn’t start from here” (Eastleigh) is what I should have said.
It turned out they’d set off from North Yorkshire earlier in the day and had been directed through Eastleigh as the M27 was shut. They’d tried three times to get out of the town and were at their wits’ end. Apparently, there was a 10th circle in Dante’s Hell.
Their problem was that they didn’t have a map and they couldn’t operate their TomTom to direct them to Bournemouth without using the motorway. I eventually told the driver to head for Totton and then, and only then, set the TomTom for Bournemouth and whatever you do, don’t go on the M27.
He spent 10 minutes apologising as he tried time and time again to type T O T T O N into the fucking TomTom. I politely spelled it and re-spelled it and he politely typed wrong letter after the wrong letter.
It would have been quicker to get in the back seat and go with them to Bournemouth.
I sent them on their way but I’m sure the TomTom would take them to Totton via the M27 so they’re probably still in Eastleigh now.
That is nice
Enjoy and recharge
I saw the same couple today. I asked if they’d enjoyed Bournemouth but alas they told me that they’d never got there. He’d misspelled Totton in error & ended up in Tottenham. They managed to find their way back to Eastleigh somehow and decided to settle down there as they realised they could never leave. Nice couple.
Sounds like the same couple who asked me where they could buy some curtains for their new house. They had seen some they liked being worn by someone they took to be the village idiot, who had send them on a wild goose chase by trying to send them to Taunton.
I see what you’re trying to do.
The actual village idiot was deeply hurt when he heard about this. He has his reputation to consider, after all.
When the senior flight stewardess is doing the rounds of frequent fliers and being French comes up to my seat and asks how to properly pronounce my name, and she is STUNNING and blonde and that franch accent.
Might not fall asleep all the way, may spend some time flirting with Julia.
Depends how much Grand Cry St Emillion I guzzle after my Bloody Mary
Roast Duck for dinner…
Only a 20 minute push back delay.
More bubbles then
Forget bloody Poulter. Where’s the pictures of Julia?
When you get into work, have a clusterfuck to sort out, which you’d normally do alone.
Then remembering you have staff to help you out with that now
So I’m all chirpy we chatted again she asked about best golf courses for her husband. I did really well refusing to give her a business card.
Then as I got off the plane she gave me her number.
Ffs. My daughter is older than her…
So no I won’t but it wasn’t are fun flirting again
All together now.
The working class can kiss my arse.
I’ve got the foreman’s job at last.
I get folk have their gripes with modern football, but despite the money, and the histrionics and all the other crap.
I bloody love watching a sick goal. This was a sick goal. I could watch this on loop for ages.
Meh. I’ve still got a boss, y’know.
And I still can’t afford to give up work. I won’t be leaving the working class anytime forever.
Ah you say that now but like it or not you’ve just joined “the ruling class”
Their corrupt influences will nibble away at your precious principals unnoticed to yourself but all too evident to your subordinates. Your old workmates will stop their conversations when you appear…you are perceived to be part of the problem.
Still…enjoy what time you have left before the revolution.
Yep. Before you know it he will be eating Quinoa and falafel salad pots and spending 30 quid on argyle socks.
Probably start insisting on wearing clean boxer shorts everyday as well, abusing those who would question the practice.
He’ll never be as middle class as me.