Waiting for something to turn up

Yesterday, Norah’s father came to look at his new convention centre.

He brought his son with him: Ralph (or as he likes to be known, Raefe), heir to the Sponce empire.

Raefe was born in the Chinese 'Year of the Twat'.

Now I am not jealous. Let’s nail that one, for a start. The fact that he is six foot two, with a mane of golden hair, permanent tan and the looks of a Greek god in no way colours my judgement. The man is an intellectual pygmy.

He is always flaunting his money, and position.You know how some people have those ‘nodding-dogs’ on the back shelf of their car? You usually get behind one in a traffic queue and its inane bobbing drives you mad? Well Ralph has a real dog on the back shelf of his Bentley - one of those miniature things, about the size of a large rat. And he’s trained this dog to nod its head at the car behind.

Can you believe it?

He calls me ‘matey’. ‘Park the old bus for me, matey’ he said, tossing me the keys as he came up the steps of Wynorin.

He likes to think of himself as a socialist: buys the Guardian (I found a copy on the passenger seat) but I doubt he actually reads it.

Anyway, his dad wanted to make sure that everything was in place for the weekend ‘bonding session’ for his senior executives. (Ralph refers to it as a ‘bondage weekend’ – what a wit!)Of course he doesn’t get involved in these sessions – he is above that sort of thing.

I had offered my services as a ‘group leader’ (after all I am a professional lecturer) but Tobias politely declined, saying he was bringing in ‘specialists’ in the various areas he wanted covering. So it’s my job to make sure the rooms are ready, pads and pencils laid out, flip charts and marker pens, bottles of Perrier water etc., oh, and of course the obligatory laptop connected to a projector (not forgetting the screen).

A bit of a comedown for a man of my academic qualifications, but I don’t complain. Although I have to say it is somewhat discouraging how an accident of birth can place one on the wrong side of the tracks, so to speak. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were unaware of the injustice of it all – perhaps some people are - but me, being a thinker, and acutely conscious of the sheer randomness of life – well it is sometimes hard to stop oneself connecting a hose up to the exhaust of the car, closing all the windows and – goodnight Vienna. Of course I would never do that; I am, like Mr Micawber, always hoping for ‘something to turn up’,