My day started stuck behind the longest funeral procession I’ve ever seen the back-end of.
As I sat illegally blocking an island in town to let it pass by (I would say out of respect, but really I had no choice.), I must have counted a hearse and about 6 funeral cars in-toe.
The deceased must have either been very popular to need that many cars for attendants, or simply very lonely in light of the fact every single one of them was empty (apart from the hearse of course. They must have been really unpopular if they couldn’t even bear going to their own funeral!…)
After about what seemed a lifetime (for both of us I imagine), I managed to maneuver onto an exit road and nip past the ‘ghost procession’ on route if not a few minutes late.
Having made it on to the car park, I hastily made a beeline for the pay and display, blocked by a rather obese woman.
She looked up: “you go first love I’m just…”
*thought* …negotiating with myself as to whether to get a ticket, or dump the car in a side street and use the £3.20 towards a chippy on the way home?
She was moving away from the machine after I’d secured my pricey fee to the car window and set off for the office.
Whether she’d decided on the ticket or not I’m not 100%, but the spring in her step said to me she’d realised that if she got a shift on, she’d make it to Maccies in time for breakfast.
I entered the reception and picked up a free copy of the paper (perks of the job don’t’cha know?), which i was eager to flick through as soon as I got the chance…
I headed into the office and took my chance while Mike was busy getting his fix of caffeine.
Ahh, the feeling of seeing your name in print. It’s almost as good as seeing your name in lights, except less … ‘lit-up.’
I was pleased to see that all but one of the articles I’d written so far had made it to print, and could just imagine my nan already in ASDA, purchasing a bumper pack of pritt stick for the mammoth cutting and sticking exercise, that would no doubt find its way round the cul-de-sac before 5.
Having escaped notice of delayed arrival, Mike set about briefing me on the first interview of the day. I was to go down the road to a local bar that is a regular fixture of my nights out about town, to interview the bar Manager on a ‘pudding competition’ he was running.
Mike: “something along the lines of: The Sweet Taste Of Success, The Icing On The Cake…’FLANTASTIC!’
You’ve gotta love a good headline.
On the way down there I made a quick call to my nan..
Me: “hi is nan there?”
Grandad: “I think so, I lost her under the carcass of The Post a few minutes ago. Shall I get her to call you back when she resurfaces?”
I was greeted at ‘BANK bar & lounge’, by a very chipper Manager, who wasted no time in saying: “shall we go upstairs?”
*thought*: Well, I assumed we might at least go out for a drive-thru first, but if we must…
He also demanded two cappuccinos from the young girl behind the bar before we headed into the kitchens upstairs.
After being there over 40 mins, I’d got pages on his most recent culinary escapade, foreboding marathon 8, bagged myself a free lunch in exchange for a food review, and enjoyed a lovely free beverage.
I always think things taste better when they’re free, don’t you?
I headed back to the office, and my bum hardly touched the seat before I was back out again with a fellow young reporter on the case of piecing together a ‘world cup wag’ outfit.
We ended up in a classy designer boutique not far from the office, where the very generous shop owner not only let Charlotte dress up but also let me take photographs. I felt like David Bailey, only not a man….and with more hair.
We were even offered some Schloer from champagne flutes.
I don’t mind if I do!
Arriving back to the office after a mammoth ‘shopping sprint’, and with a tummy full of wine-flavoured fizzy pop i set about the arduous task of making sense of the morse code that was scrawled across 10 pages of my notebook.
At 5:30 I finally left the office, but felt like I’d done a hard day’s graft.
I’ll certainly sleep well tonight!