We ventured, not without some temerity, into the glass-fronted world of the super executives today, visiting the local Planning Office in its splendid new building at the Baglan Energy Park.
On the way, true to form, we got lost and ended up in a rather depressing housing area called Sand-something-or-other. Graham was distraught; the weather was grim, bleak and damp, and he felt out of place and out of time.
“Can we just forget the whole thing and go home?” he asked.
“We could, but we’re not going to. Phone the guy, tell him where we are and that we’re lost. He’ll know the way. He’s a planning officer.”
Sure enough, we pulled into the entrance to the car park a few minutes later, gave the magic password to the intercom on the barrier which dutifully lifted to admit us, and I slipped the little silver Ford into a vacant disabled parking slot right near the front door, and in we went.
Our business was soon concluded and off we went, back to more familiar ground, and to B&Q for an electrical switch and Morrison’s for orange juice, two danish pastries and a supply of Loyd Grossman’s best spaghetti.
“Can we go home now?” Graham ventured.
“I’m sure there’s something else we needed.”
“Oh, go on. I’ll make you the best espresso you’ve ever had if we can go home now. Go well with espresso, would these pastries.”
He had his way, of course.
Is that coffee I can smell?
