Diary of a Grumpy Old Git (19 page)

Smoking was apparently prohibited in the hotel, but that didn’t stop my whole room, from the threadbare carpets to the yellow curtains, smelling like it had been coughed up in a bronchitis
ward. The window rattled in its frame whenever there was a slight breeze, and managed to keep me awake in the short gap between when the couple in the room above stopped shagging and when the kids
in the room next door started shouting.

There was a sign above the towels asking me to reuse them to avoid the unnecessary use of detergents. Judging by the brown stains on the back of them, the necessary use of detergents has also
been avoided. How utterly committed to saving the planet this establishment must be. I can’t say I noticed their solar panels or recycling bins, though. It’s funny how they’re
most committed to the environmental initiatives that save them effort.

Breakfast was included in the price, but not in my definition of ‘edible’. To make things worse, it was presented as if it were normal food. The instant coffee was served in a small
metal pot, the cheap own-brand cereal was stored in a plastic tube with a ‘Kellogg’s Corn Flakes’ logo stuck on, and some thin, tasteless red liquid had been syphoned into a
tomato sauce bottle.

The pitch seemed to go pretty well, though. I know Jen’s relentless positivity can be annoying, but it was very handy in the meeting. She did a terrific job of coming across like she was
actually excited by their range of forklifts. Maybe she actually was excited by them. Maybe she’s excited by everything all the time. I have no idea.

We sat together on the train home, and once again I didn’t need to add anything to the conversation to keep it going. She asked me what I thought about new government plans for a
high-speed rail link and then argued alternatively for and against them all the way home. It sounds crazy, and it was. But I found it strangely comforting. In fact, her chattering lulled me off to
sleep after about twenty minutes. She might have stopped talking at that point, but I seriously doubt it.

On my way down to the shops this morning I pressed the button on the pedestrian crossing and the ‘WAIT’ sign lit up. While I was standing there, an old lady came
along and pressed the button again. I couldn’t believe it. It was like she had so little faith in my ability to press a button she felt she had to do it again to make sure. I tried to explain
this to her and she said I was being rude.

I pointed out that she was clearly the rude one. If you see someone waiting at the lights, the very least you can do is credit them with the intelligence to press a button correctly.
Unfortunately, it took me so long to explain this to her that we both missed the lights, and the button needed to be pressed again. I offered to let her do it this time, but she refused in case I
shouted again. Which proved she hadn’t been listening to a word I’d been saying.

As I approached my house I noticed that a woman had very thoughtfully stopped right outside to let her pit bull terrier shit in my driveway. I glared at her, but she just smiled and said it was
a nice day. There was no attempt to apologize or scoop up the faeces. Both lady and dog just stood there grinning at me.

I was about to tell her that I made no distinction whatsoever between someone who lets their pet defecate on my driveway and someone who hitches up their skirt, drags their knickers down to
their knees and curls one out herself. Unfortunately, I didn’t get the chance because the horrible dog jumped up at me.

I flinched back.

‘Don’t worry,’ said the woman. ‘It just means he likes you.’

So shitting on someone’s driveway and trying to bite them is a way of showing approval now, is it? My grasp of etiquette is clearly out of date.

I bought a Sunday paper from the supermarket while I was out this morning, and when the woman behind the counter asked if I wanted a bag, I declined. I know how angry they get
about plastic bags and I couldn’t face buying another bag for life, so I decided to tuck my paper under my arm. Unfortunately, I then stopped off on impulse at the corner shop to buy a
chocolate bar, and the owner accused me of stealing the paper. I tried to explain that I’d already bought it from the supermarket, but he asked why it wasn’t in a bag. I couldn’t
really be bothered arguing with him, so I paid for it again.

I felt obliged to read every section of the paper after paying for it twice, when all I’d really wanted was the crossword and the TV guide. So I lost half my morning and most of my change
as a result of trying to help the environment.

I hope the environment realizes I’m expecting the favour to be returned soon. It could start by striking the corner shop with lightning.

I just had an enjoyable evening of going through my spam emails. Every time I click on ‘spam’ to see if an actual email has ended up there by mistake, I’m
confronted with a bizarre menu of mankind’s unspoken longings. It appears we’d all like larger wangs and a bucket of Viagra so we could ‘experience pleasure like never
before’. Then we’d like to buy genuine Rolex watches at knockdown prices and gamble the money we’ve saved in online casinos. We’d like to look younger, lose weight and be
awarded fully recognized degrees based on our current knowledge and life experience. Then we’d like long-lost relatives, Nigerian princes and heads of Chinese banks to transfer millions of
dollars into our bank accounts.

Someone somewhere is clicking on this stuff. There are people out there thinking, ‘You say you want to give me some free money, eh? Tell me more.’ And these people have bank
accounts.

If I were a billionaire I’d pretend to be a Nigerian prince and email random people to ask for their bank details. If anyone ever gave me them, I’d transfer a million quid into their
account right away. It would make one gullible idiot very happy and everyone else in the world feel like they’d spent their lives discarding genuine opportunities for wealth.

We won the pitch! Hooray! That means I’ll have to do more work. Boo. I must try and make our presentations crapper in future. I want the company to win enough business to
keep going, but not so much that I have to stay until nine every night.

Josh took us all to the pub for champagne after work. I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to Jo, as she was sitting down the other end of the table, while I was stuck talking about the
pitch with Jen and Josh.

I didn’t say much because I knew my voice would take on a sarcastic tone just to spite me, and I didn’t want to upset Josh and Jen. I don’t really know why. They were drinking
champagne and braying at the tops of their voices. I should have been annoyed, but they were so excited about winning the business I actually felt pleased for them. I must be going soft.

Jo left after a couple of hours and I said I’d walk her to the tube. We passed the Red Lion and I asked her if she fancied something to eat. I must have been feeling courageous after all
that champagne.

I was expecting bar snacks, but it seems that the Red Lion has been turned into a gastro pub. The silent old men with their pints of stout have been replaced by smart couples drinking wine, the
pork scratchings have been replaced by vegetable shavings and the ‘ladies’ and ‘gents’ signs have been replaced by ambiguous squiggles designed to confuse everyone into
wetting themselves.

The waiter showed us to a candlelit table and handed out menus with words like ‘confit’, ‘infused’ and ‘jus’ on them. I suddenly realized that we were having
an actual, proper date in a posh restaurant. This was it. I’d been gifted another chance after screwing everything up last week.

And it’s a chance I would have done something about if one of Jo’s friends from university hadn’t spotted us.

‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ she said, extending her hand. ‘You must be Jo’s dad.’

And that was it. The chance had gone.