The job is not the problem.
I like the job, it’s just that every now and then I have one of those days.
Red is my favourite colour, as you can probably tell.
Red lipstick, red nail polish and red toe nails.
I own a Porsche 356s and, you guessed it, it’s red.
The car belonged to my father and he gave it to me on my thirtieth birthday. The car goes very well with the job.
I drove the Porsche to a meeting with one of our high-profile clients.
I parked it on the street, tripped the kill switch and engaged the steering lock. I wasn’t taking any chances.
No one steals my car.
Of course, I wasn’t factoring in the local council.
Bright red classic sports cars are like candy to a very greedy baby.
Two minutes after the meter expired my little red beauty was on the back of a tow truck being hauled to the impound yard on the other side of town.
Why are impound yards always on the other side of town?
It’s going to cost a bundle to get her out of hock, but that can wait until tomorrow.
To make it worse the client didn’t turn up and he is backing out on the deal.
There goes my Christmas bonus and the deposit on that house that looks out on the bay.
But, like I said, that can all wait until tomorrow.
For now, I’m soaking in the bath, glass of bubbly in one hand and a French cigarette in the other.
Bathing by candlelight is one of life’s special pleasures, and in case you were wondering who the other cigarette belongs to; he’s one of life’s larger pleasures.