A brief visit to Coventry yesterday, which included lunch with Chas, Lenzo and Max at a pub with a help-yourself carvery. Having cleared my plate, I felt dizzy and passed out. When I came round, Chas, bless him, was phoning 999. As the paramedics were checking my ‘vital signs’, I felt calm and stoical: “what will be, will be”. I thought I’d had a minor stroke, but it seems not.
When the landlady printed out our bill, it was blank. There was nothing to pay (no doubt there would have been a lot of paperwork to fill in, if a punter had died on the premises, and the sight of a comatose diner stretched out on a banquette can’t have been good for business). We went back home and played a game of Risk, thus ensuring that my petit mal wasn’t the worst part of the day. There’s nothing like a fight for world domination, decided by throwing dice, for putting things into perspective.
Licenced today: cottages in Morcott village, Rutland (a village which, coincidentally, I drove through today, on my way back from Coventry)…
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