Monday, September 20, 2004

The imminent arrival of a small dangerous package - Alasdair

Frank O'Shea woke me up at 9 a.m. this morning, with a "Just one more question" routine worthy of rumpled mastermind Columbo. The focus of his interrogation was my bank account, and the literally astonishing fact that i've fooled anyone into transferring their funds into it.

"But Frank, did i not mention that i am Crown Prince Arbuthnot Butelemki, ousted from a central African Republic, and now needing to transfer the sum of $14,000,000 into your Natwest Current Account... well, that's what i tell'em Frank, if you catch my drift..."

Feeling soiled after that start to the day, i tried wandering around outside. But after another sleepless night i am looking and moving like an extra from a 50s zombie flick, so that sojourn was hastily curtailed.

I don't normally like to consider the future in any great depth, but i break this habit today as indeed something Important happens tomorrow - Alasdair will arrive on his first trip to Dublin, and will reside with me for no longer than one week (this period may be subject to immediate review should the famously tight bastard expect not to share in the financial suffering that buying an alcoholic drink in Ireland involves).

Hopefully, the 7 days will deliver enough contact time, out of his natural environment, for me to pan for word-nuggets in the gravelly river bed that constitutes interpersonal contact with Boy Robertson. But i wouldn't bet on it.

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