I've been keeping as busy as possible these last few days. Mostly work (mostly unpaid for a friend) and there was a midweek trip to watch Fulham. This time I got to see all the goals. All FIVE. Shame none of them were scored by us. I won't bore you with detail, except to say that, there are still Police trained negotiators out there trying to talk disaffected Fulham fans down from high buildings.
So back to work. New customer, got chatting to her in a coffee shop a while ago about web design and she asked if I could do a little plumbing job for her. So here I am, changing a shower screen. Then she asked me could I put up a blind, carry stuff from the garage the list is lengthening. While all of this is going on, she's telling me about a gay friend of hers. Who she fell out with big time, a while back, is having a party down in his flat in Brighton tonight. She's not sure whether to go etc etc. I say she should, life's too short. "Ok I'll go.......but only if you come with me" what do I say now? "I can't go to a party dressed like this" good, got out of that "You look fine" So an hour latter we're driving south, out of London and heading for Brighton. In her BMW Sports convertible, very nice, I could get use to this.
Not knowing which bell to press, she presses them all then disappears to go and bang on a window "Just in case no one is listening," as she disappears down the steps the door opens and this huge man, bottle in one hand glass in the other says "hello darling, do I know you"
Once inside we get introduced (and kissed) to/by all the people in the front room, from there we make for the kitchen and the booze, more introductions, more kisses. By the time I get to the wine I'm suffering from razor-burn. Did no one shave before coming out tonight? We stayed for a couple of hours, while my client chatted to her old friends and I stuffed my face, nodded and smiled in all the right places and at all the right times. We finally left around midnight more kissing, more razor-burn. We slowly walked up to where she'd parked her car, breathing in the cold fresh sea air and me finishing the chicken leg I'd swiped as we left So now my client is relaxed. she's mended broken fences with her friend and she's now content with the world. How do I know this? Is it my newly grown sensitivity antennae? No, it's her driving style. we leave Brighton, the way Jenson Button leaves the pits. Clouds of grit and dust. Music's up loud, to drown out the sound of Spanner Screaming. We get back before we have left. Or so it seems, say goodnight and I complete the last leg of my journey in my trusted but much slower rusty red van.
Today I earned a little money, went to a party, met some interesting people while eating half my weight in food and had the crap scared out of me on the drive home and it's still not Christmas.
Onwards and upwards in the pursuit of happyness :-)