Tuesday dawned piercingly clear, and with still no word to the contrary I set off for my meeting with the Editor.
It was a longish bus ride, and dawn's clarity gave way to an increasing heat and humidity. By the time I arrived my shirt, which had looked fairly presentable when I left, was sticking to me in places which I was quite sure hadn't stuck out quite as much the last time I'd checked.
With an hour to kill, I walked aimlessly around for a while, in the vague hope that it would do me some sort of good. Maybe I'd burn off a few calories, maybe I'd see something interesting to write about.The park was sparsely populated, disappointing me in my aim of ripping off other people's lives for my own self-aggrandisement, but it was a nice enough walk nonetheless.
So pleasant was the wander that I lost track of time and had to jog to make it to the editor's office on time. Arriving dripping sweat and apologies in uneven proportion, I was waved through by her immaculately turned out secretary, who looked not entirely dissimilar to a young David Niven. Certainly it had been a long time since I'd last seen a pencil moustache, but I suppose the cities are always ahead in these matters.
The Editor was conspicuous by her absence. A handwritten note on her desk, next to the photograph of she and her husband wake-boarding in the Antibes read:
Meeting's off, you don't really do allegory, do you?
It was a longish bus ride, and dawn's clarity gave way to an increasing heat and humidity. By the time I arrived my shirt, which had looked fairly presentable when I left, was sticking to me in places which I was quite sure hadn't stuck out quite as much the last time I'd checked.
With an hour to kill, I walked aimlessly around for a while, in the vague hope that it would do me some sort of good. Maybe I'd burn off a few calories, maybe I'd see something interesting to write about.The park was sparsely populated, disappointing me in my aim of ripping off other people's lives for my own self-aggrandisement, but it was a nice enough walk nonetheless.
So pleasant was the wander that I lost track of time and had to jog to make it to the editor's office on time. Arriving dripping sweat and apologies in uneven proportion, I was waved through by her immaculately turned out secretary, who looked not entirely dissimilar to a young David Niven. Certainly it had been a long time since I'd last seen a pencil moustache, but I suppose the cities are always ahead in these matters.
The Editor was conspicuous by her absence. A handwritten note on her desk, next to the photograph of she and her husband wake-boarding in the Antibes read:
Meeting's off, you don't really do allegory, do you?
Comments
Post a Comment