InIndiana,
Such distractions are really a driving hazard but I'm pleased you survived the journey. You may howevever regret posting your scribe upon this thread, lest you end up as "fodder" for the the unwary. Now, where is that search function?
My birthday tomorrow and well what surprises will I expect to anticipate.(that's a statement alright).Surprises must be confirmed at least 7 days before departure. A meeting with the executive to discuss my contract renewal, such bad timing perhaps. The "youngun", after a delightful weekend is keen to join the annointed one at dinner and work has been alerted to a possible "technical" on Thursday.
Readers, thanks for holding on, ATC will clear Part 13 shortly. A delightful weekend was had with my innocent companion. My rusty cooking skills (honed from years studying cook hacking away at all manner of produce and carcasses) worked their way to a man's heart as they say.
Part 13
Ms Mobbs is obviously taking the slower class, judging by the amassed “empties” gathering around her. She introduces herself and asks that I call her Nell in true Australian fashion for fear that her full name will create difficulties for the unwary or educationally compromised. Nell looks ripe for a chat so I whip out the telephone and ask Verity to bring me a small glass of Dom. A slight hesitation enters her voice when I explain where I am but I seem to relax her when I fib and say I’ve just met up with an old friend. In no time at all, Verity arrives with my half glass of Dom, she looks on disapprovingly at my “old friend” and I can’t help but think how quickly people are to judge others by first impressions. Verity leaves all too quickly as if she has entered an isolation ward by mistake. I reach for my hip flask and top up my “Vodka Dom”. These are delicious and I only wish Mother was around to try them. She was always one to experiment with her “comforts” but I’m sure this little concoction eluded her.
I toast my glass with Nell and take in her ruddy, puffed face, too much beer perhaps but kindly nonetheless and one can easily look beyond her follicular growth that would be more commonly expected on a man. Nell swigs at her beer and shifts her legs that stretch like a well-aged Chardonnay to the floor below. Despite my tiredness, I am engrossed in her story, told in a broad accent I barely recognised as that of a fellow Countryman. Certainly born and raised in the wrong part of the house, her parents were in service to a wealthy family performing menial tasks such as raking the gravel drive and deadheading the rose gardens. Nell strove above her station by accident. Of minimal educational exposure, Nell happened across an idea whilst peeling potatoes and wondering how they could be kept from discolouring. Her invention, a mixture of accident, luck and a rather unpleasant sulphurous emission discovered after a bit of “Dutch oven” experimentation with her Brother. This discovery propelled her from spud peeler to entrepreneur and a business that has her travelling the world.
Nell enjoys her work and recognises that she is often dismissed for her outward appearance when first presenting for an appointment. This embarrassment by her client works in her favour and she drives a bargain harder than a rod of steel, taking inner delight at their unease by thinking her a vagrant and ensuring her normal price is more than accomplished. I see a lot of my Mother in Nell, strong, confident and ready to pounce. Their appearances dismissive to the unwary but they soon find that they have made a serious blunder and are left like a fly in a spider web awaiting their fate. Mother met Father in a similar scenario, he a man of means and Mother a woman with means. Theirs was a tumultuous relationship from the start. Mother first met him whilst working as a secretary in a bank to which Father was CEO. Their marriage was a shock to all, coming in the middle of a scandal involving stories of embezzlement and private transactions. Luckily the marriage seemed to calm the waters and the scandal whimpered into nothing more than the crazed innuendo of an unnamed source.
Nell had many amusing stories; I especially liked the time she masqueraded as a gentleman at a buck’s party for an old acquaintance,
Sfen Pallen who had “forgot his station” shall we say. After an evening of cigars, brandy and scantily clad table dancers, Nell joined the “toppers” to much hooting and hollering from the stag crowd and slowly proceeded to strip in a performance that left everybody speechless. More was to come though and after a quick change (of gender) the groom met his Alma Marta in a drunken haze of nicotine, booze and an old fashioned ritual grafted from the heady days of the snuffbox. Men, my Mother would say were at their most vulnerable under the spell of a quiet snort and snifter of brandy. The motel proprietor was stunned that the nice young “Mr. And Mrs. Smith” had such a quick separation with Mr. Smith making a hasty exit to much applause from a gathering of gentlemen in black tie gathered in the motel forecourt.
Sleep beacons, and I feel I’ve distracted Nell from her business studies too much, although the ungainly recline of the “students” around suggest that kip time is more prevalent to study. We swap cards and make a promise to catch up for dinner. Nell is staying at Claridges and I at Mothers favourite, The Dor. I say my farewell and wander back to the sanctuary of the First cabin and a sleep of the Gods.
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Feb 03, 2004).]
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Feb 03, 2004).]
[This message has been edited by GoldFlyer (edited Feb 03, 2004).]