There’s something most pleasant about leisurely squeezing an orange, brewing a cuppa char, scoffing a madeleine and waiting for the mocha to hiss, while icy drizzle descends outside, and seated in your pyjamas, you consider how you should have left home for work about 10 minutes ago. Breakfast should not be rushed for any reason, missed frequently, but never rushed, which is why I left 10 mins later after my repast, so as to allow for the digestive process to begin.
Rolling down my hill secure in the knowledge that my new waterproof trouser would keep the bum dry on my half hour footle, I felt as cheerful as a frisbee fetching llama, knowing that my pet hate of damp trousers would be forever a thing of the past.
About 5 minutes or so in, I felt a damp spot, about the size of a 50 pence piece, but thought it was a cold patch, only this and nothing more. I mean how could a new waterproof trouser’s defence be breached so swiftly? The cold patch began to spread and a reach behind (not around) as I bundled on through Camberwell confirmed my worst suspicions that the seat of my trousers were more than wet. Still there is nothing to be done with such a thing but to squelch on through to the other side while whistling a jaunty tune.
Obviously it is easy to be good and cheerful of spirit when dry pants are a short ride away and there is a warm, not so inviting shower at the end of the journey. Dangling my damp underwear from a coat hanger that previously had held my suit, I left the poxy little cubicle that houses the shower and went in search of tea and newspaper, leaving the door open so as to allow for ventilation.
This seemed to be a perfectly logical thing to me, but a colleague, chum and generally good soul questioned me as to the wisdom of such an action, suggesting only mad men arranged pants on clothes hangers and then popped them on the public display of an office. Personally, I could not see his point, for the pants were clean – only a trifle damp – and needed drying. Logical place was a coat hanger in the shower room.
Actually, I fail to see the point of many things – well short pointless emails in response to carefully worded epistles full of levity and Italian fishermen for one. Why bother penning such a thing, unless the desire is to insult? Much rather silence, than pathetically worded shortened sentences – which to my mind are the communicational equivalent of damp pants.