Hurry

Following on from the 'Fluctuation' story I should reassure you that thankfully My-Wife (Then-Girlfriend) and I didn't have to live in The Hole for very long. Six months later we moved slightly further north into a much nicer flat (the one with the urban fox). The Fox's Rest, as I shall call it, was a great place and our home for the next five years or so. Convenient for both the station and the shops and the best cafe in the world (hats off to you Maggie and the bliss you plated up for us on a Sunday morning).

On one occasion while at the Fox's Rest we received from MW (TG)'s mother some tickets to attend a private viewing at the Nation Gallery's Salisbury Wing. Not being great art lovers we were uninspired until we spied the magic words - "Free bar and buffet". The subsequent debate lasted a good five seconds and on the night in question we boarded the train to Charring Cross dressed to the nines. Well, my better half reached nines. I find it a push to reach fives - sixes if I change out of my jeans.

Unfortunately for us the weather decided to take turn for the worst during the journey. On arrival at Charring Cross we found that the heavens had opened to Biblical proportions. Using what cover we could we got as far as the shops at the south side of Trafalgar Square then waited for an opportune moment to cross the the final distance. Through the downpour we could see the gallery smugly temping us with its promise of free plonk. If we didn't move soon we miss the buffet.

Time was running out and then so were we! Hand in hand we dashed across the square and right on cue the Rain God turned it up a notch (or five). Before we had reached the first lion it was obvious that even if we made it to the gallery without drowning there was no way they would allow us in. In silent understanding we looked at each other and laughed. In a state of  mutual saturation, we turned round and walked back to a pub by the station, there to steam dry at our leisure with a pint...

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