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Still
terminably irritable, yet somehow softer and slightly more mellow than
last time........judge for yourselves! In last week’s mutterings I mentioned that I went to a wedding. A fellow guest, who I don’t know has read this column and demanded to know if I was casting the accusing finger of blame in her direction because her kids were sliding around the dance floor.
Damn right I was love. Had you have kept your little inbreds on tight leads and not fed them so many E numbers, they might have been slightly better behaved; although if kids take their lead from their single parents then your little bundle of nothingness is merely an ASBO waiting to happen. It came as a great surprise that you read last weeks column, it fact it came as a great surprise that you read (or could read) anything, well done!
I went to the dentist last Friday, which is the dentist that is 120 miles away from Brinklow, in sunny Stockport. I decided that the M6 is too manic at this time of year and wanted to give the train a go. Now a train journey from Coventry to Manchester is no great Euro road trip, but it IS a day out and as such, still to be treated as an adventure, something which my very juvenile brain has no trouble in doing.
The day begins with a panic. I am at the station at 9am and my appointment is at 11:45am. So far so good. Then I discover that the train is scheduled to arrive at Stockport at 11:47am and adding on the Virgin “we’re never on time” tax of 15 minutes and THEN the 15 minute walk to the house of pain, means that we are looking at a new appointment time of around 12:15pm. Before buying any tickets I call the dentist to make sure they can fit me in at this later time (I am having a new crown fitted so there is lots of prep work needed today).
I expect some goodwill, as I have been a patient for over 25 years and am making a big effort to get there. The receptionist, who is not blessed with too much between the ears explained…….
“Uhmmm, I’m not sure if we can fit you in later. Well, if you can guarantee not to be any later than 12:15, we should be ok”, was the answer.
“Ok thanks Tracey….Sharon, sorry I’ve forgotten your name. I’ll call Richard Branson and explain that this train must be on time as I cannot be late for the dentist shall I?” I replied.
“If you could that would be wonderful. Can Mr Branson maybe drive the train a little faster; it’s a straight bit of line between Birmingham and Manchester. By the way, my name’s Chellsee.” She twittered.
Needless to say; I arrived in time. My bridge work was done. Chellsee was on her lunch break thank God and Richard Branson drove the train very skilfully back to Birmingham on that flat bit. An adventure? Not really.
Simon |
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