Beautiful day today. Could it be that Spring got drunk, had a quick kip in Norway, or wherever, and has finally stumbled into late May looking for coffee and a fry up and wondering why nobody else is in the kitchen?
Simon-from-the-office was annoyingly cheerful this morning. I swear the man looked fit to burst forth whistling. Luckily for his personal safety he kept himself away from the tuneless blowing I hate so much.
“So Stephanie,” he said. I’m Stephie to everyone except Simon-from-the-office and angry Aunts.
“Yes,” I replied. For my side I try very hard not to utter his name to him. He’s Simon-from-the-office in my mind and it’s how I refer to him to all, even in his earshot. But I figure it’s probably a bit off to call him it to his face.
“You seem,” he continued unaware that he was interrupting my inner monologue, “to have got yourself into a bit of a pickle with Alison.”
“Well blasted Roger has duffed up the whole arrangement. What he was thinking is beyond me.”
“Not sure quite what the current posish is,” I said.
“No, hadn’t we better arrange a meeting with Alison? Might not she be best placed?”
“Yes yes. I lunch with her tomorrow, I’ve got to meet with the Gosports this afternoon and I’m going to need all my strength. You know they fell asleep at dinner?”
“You did mention.”
“Well I hope it’s all worth it in the end,” I said.
“I think if you can find a way to mention that your readers are obsessed with cabinet fixings I’m sure that will make things easier.”
“Won’t he see me terribly transparent?”
“I doubt it. He’ll merely imagine the entire circulation rapt in attention to his droning which, I imagine, will loosen the purse strings.”
“I’ll give it a belt, you know I will.”
“Excellent, and I’ll arrange the luncheon.”