Thursday, December 16, 2004
High Land, Hard Rain
It's raining it's pouring the old man is snoring, he went to Grimsby to install a Unix server, a long boring drive across the Pennines, you get past Leeds and it’s just mile after mile of nothing and he’d left his sandwiches on the kitchen table when his Mum phoned to ask him to pop round and fix the timer on the central heating sometime, so he left late and clean forgot about his lunch and his mobile phone too, and never got Stella’s message that the trip had been postponed because the IT manager there was off sick with back trouble following football and couldn’t make it in today.
He got back to the office at two thirty, but the rain was coming down in sheets and he couldn’t face the run from the car park to the back door, so he showed himself the red card, took himself off the field of play, and walked down the tunnel with his head down, defeated, unable to recover from a first minute own goal and went home for an early bath instead.
He got back to the office at two thirty, but the rain was coming down in sheets and he couldn’t face the run from the car park to the back door, so he showed himself the red card, took himself off the field of play, and walked down the tunnel with his head down, defeated, unable to recover from a first minute own goal and went home for an early bath instead.
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