"J D", said the Sage

"If you go on ahead for the car," I said, "I'll meet you at the end of the road." "No, you sit on the bench on the platform and I'll get the car. I'll hoot the horn when I'm back." "I don't mind walking" "I am telling you," he said firmly. Gosh. It was quite a moment. The Sage was all masterful and imposing. I waited on the platform.

The day went fine, except that we weren't able to finish the work because it was more awkward than we realised to fit the shelf - by the time I could have considered leaving for the Tate, it was about quarter to four and I couldn't be bothered - it'd take me the best part of an hour to get there, then I'd have had an hour there and a trip straight back to the station, because there was nothing else for me to do even though our train tickets were for 8 o'clock. So we stayed together (the Sage had been on his errands earlier) and ended up in Burger King because they have the comfiest sofas on Liverpool Street Station. I haven't been in Burger King for years. We used to go there, my sons and me, after the cinema sometimes, because we got a money-off voucher - I can't remember if it was in the cinema or from the local paper - anyway it was the one in Norwich Castle Mall. Very convenient, right opposite the escalator. They were the moodiest staff I've ever come across in any corporate fast-food joint anywhere ever. Usually, they had blocked off most of the tables with a barrier of chairs and they obviously rather resented getting any customers at all. Then once, we went in and the whole seating area was blocked off, except for the bar facing the wall where you had to clamber onto a high stool. I scrambled up ungainly and unwrapped my burger. As I bit into it, a splodge of mayo'n'tomato sauce squidged onto the floor.

Reader, I left it there. From a polite and considerate sort of cove as I am, that was a hugely pointed piece of retaliatory up-yoursness. Anyway, it was the last time I went there, as the discount finished about that time, and there was no other reason to go and feel resented, not even for a Flamegrilled Whopper.