the rat

For the rest of time, my enduring memory of the royal wedding will be of watching the rat on the road outside the pub the night before.  I can't remember who saw it first, under one of the parked cars, but I failed my girlie badge by not screaming and climbing up on the seat as another girl did.

It was medium huge and not remotely sleek but relatively healthy looking even so.  Later in the evening when I was outside again, I saw the rat had returned, even closer, under the table where the shrieky girl was sitting with her (male) friends.  Hysterical laughter was almost impossible to suppress but the wee soul didn't oblige by running up a trouser leg or across the girl's foot.

I left shortly after that and was surprised to see the rat again when I got to the corner, scuttling up to the shop doorway before disappearing.  I don't think I've ever bought any food in that shop and don't now think I ever will.

Wednesday was a miserable washout since I got a migraine and spent the day in bed feeling thoroughly miserable when not asleep and having bizarre dreams instead of being at Ascot with some of the girls;  Hat, frock, picnic all wasted like the day's holiday I had booked.

Thursday was a working dream in comparison even if my theory about time-keeping has, unfortunately, been validated.  I arrived at the office at 8am for a 9am meeting, and everyone else had arrived by 8:15.  How idiotic.  If I had arrived half an hour early instead of an hour, I would have been late. 

What is it people don't do, that I do, that makes it possible for them to be obsessively early?