The weather has turned again and today was a rather beautiful misty morning. I realised I’d left my umbrella at the office, but when I looked out the window to see piles of grey nothingness rather than sheets of rain I was rather relieved. Must be the first blighter ever to be happy about mist.
Now I don’t want you running away with the idea that I’m all cock-a-hoop about mist and can see no possible downside – in fact not being able to see literal downsides is indeed one of the figurative downsides of mist. But the particular mist induced downside I was facing this morning was avoiding the snails. The way I was brought up was to consider the best kind of snail a dead snail, my mother hated the way they went after her lettuce, and father thought them nothing more than jumped up slugs, “what’s so special about carrying around your own home on your back? How does that make them all smug and superior to slugs, eh?” He would ask this before continuing, “I would have thought having to carry around your own house would make you a lower order crustacean, what do you think about that?”
But despite my training, London has softened my country ways so I don’t wan’t to squish them, and I certainly don’t want to ruin my shoes.
When I arrived at the office there was some excitement in the lift. A couple got in, which is odd enough to be getting along with. What kind of couple gets into an office lift? They were having a rare old time and completely ignoring me, then suddenly the scene turned slightly ugly. He asked her, “what can I smell on your breath?”
“Hot chocolate,” she replied.
“I smell fag smoke”.
“Nah it’s just hot chocolate, honest”.
The lift rattled to a halt at the floor before mine, they made to get out, but just as they exited the lift she pinched him on the bum. I couldn’t believe myself and neither could he as he jumped about a mile.
I didn’t know what to think afterwards. I don’t want somebody telling me what to do. I was pleased that she got her way, even if that wasn’t the way I would do it, he’d have to deal with me smoking if I wanted to. But was I jealous somehow of this hot chocolate guzzling, bottom pinching flake? She had something I wanted, but I didn’t know what.