It's a grotty old Monday. The rain's sort of fizzling out of the sky and making everything cold and damp.
I had an uncomfortable moment on the way out for lunch today. Two of the girls from marketing spotted me approaching on the road. They looked soaked.
I raised my umbrella as a form of greeting as they got nearer and then one of them said cheekily, "Ooh. You've got an umbrella, eh?" at which point I laughed, nervously.
I may as well have said, er, yeah, I'm not completely daft. In fact, thinking about it, that might actually have been a better thing to have said than to have implied it by laughing at the two bedraggled girls from marketing, in the rain. British humour is a delicate thing sometimes.
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Meanwhile, I think the Intrepids have stolen an industrial concrete compressor.
It's outside our back door - looking like a kind of heavy-duty manual steam-roller.
"Keep the back gate locked," said my Dad, "We're holding it until Mr Washington* pays us the money he owes us for not doing the drive."
It turns out Mr Washington left the compressor (my Mum's calling it a 'tomper' but I don't think that's a word) as a kind of token of intent some weeks ago but then never actually turned up to do the work. It's now become a hostage.
My Dad's worried that Mr Washington will sneak in in the middle of the night to rescue it. I said I didn't think he'd be that bothered, seeing as he couldn't actually manage to turn up for his real-life day job.
Hopefully this won't drag on - he's agreed to pay up apparently, has Mr Washington. Just as well, I can't really imagine the Intrepids as fugitives on the run with an industrial concrete compressor.
*This is not his real name; I'm not completely daft.
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