Friday, May 12, 2006

The bottom just fell out

A few years ago I did a writing course. Three of us from the course have remained buddies and get together at any opportunity (to talk and drink - diet coke in my case). So the launch of this year's student anthology from our old college was an ideal opportunity.

Now back in our day, end-of-term gatherings were celebrated in the back room of the Drover's Arms, a typical old Welsh pub. This suited us fine, being appropriate we felt for those who would follow in the footsteps of Wales's most famous son, Dylan Thomas.

There were disadvantages. The kitchen was at the back of the back room so readings were sometimes accompanied by the clattering of cutlery or the chatter of cooks. And, if anyone in the bar ordered food, the only way it could be got to them was via the back room. Straight through the reading area the skivvy would march with not a care that the reader was in the throes of a deeply heartfelt and poignant love poem.

But, we felt, that only added to the charm of the place. Not so say the students of today. This year the launch was in a smartly-decorated room on campus with free food - extensive buffet -and wine laid on. Plus sound system and videoing of the whole affair. And the launch was only one of several in different places including, if you please, the Hay Festival. As one of the tutors said, 'We practised on you; now we're getting it right.'

The three of us sat at the back and muttered, 'It was better in our day.'

But I nearly didn't get there. On the way to Sainsburys, for husband's now traditional Thursday night homecoming pizza, Betty started making a strange noise. When we stopped at the lights I opened my door to discover the running board dragging along the road.

I hooked it back on as best I could and carried on, grateful for every set of lights or delay that enabled me to hook it up again.

When I finally got home, younger son suggested gaffer tape: it did the job. Got me the thirty miles or so down the road to the college.

The only problem we had on the journey was that if I went over thirty mph, the CD jumped, stopped, started again, switched itself off, and on again, and so on. The player is held in by a two-penny piece so it wasn't bad really.

The madman thought it was hysterical that Betty should have an immobiliser. I told him: Beetles are highly sought-after. Especially one in such good condition as Betty ... will be when the hole in the floor and the running boards are fixed.

He also suggested that allowing me to drive on a motorway in such a wreck was a cunning plan on husband's part who has taken out life insurance on me recently now I come to think of it.

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On waking this morning I thought about what I had to do today. Work and then fighting tonight. Is that what they call a Freudian slip? I meant dancing tonight, of course.

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