He wanted to know EXACTLY where we were

Friday – I attended a marketing exhibition accompanied by my assistant Adrian Taylor and Zhu Guang (from the IT department, but he would really rather work in Marketing). We met at the station rather than going into the office, mainly so we could have an easy start to the day. Adrian Taylor had had his dark hair dyed with flecks of yellow – I told him he looked ridiculous. We had to stand on the train and tube. During the journey Adrian Taylor read The Sun newspaper, Zhu Guang read a Chinese paperback, I read the memoirs of Bud Schulberg (a Hollywood screenwriter – his father had been a studio boss and had “discovered” Clara Bow. I had bought this book for only 50p in a “sale” at my local library. It had seemed almost sacrilegious for a library to be selling off its books).

Because the day was a “jolly” on company expenses, I was not too worried that it was mid-morning by the time we got to the exhibition, supposedly a showcase for all the latest ideas in marketing, advertising and public relations. We made a cursory circuit of the halls and I told Adrian Taylor and Zhu Guang to pick up an assortment of literature so that we could prove, if necessary, that we had actually been to the place. It was while we were so occupied that Zhu Guang’s mobile phone went off.

Zhu Guang has a habit, when he is surprised, of making a high-pitched shriek (almost a scream) that immediately gives away the fact that he is doing something he shouldn’t. He gave one of these shrieks and babbled nervously. The call was from Trevor Bush, our Managing Director (and owner of the company). He wanted to know EXACTLY where we were. As it happened, we were at the Goldmine stand (an entirely appropriate place to be). Zhu Guang told him the stand number. Shortly afterwards Trevor Bush appeared, his eyes darting backwards and forwards suspiciously, as if perplexed at our being legitimately occupied. He had just arrived at the exhibition (we must have got through the door only minutes before him!) and this was obviously a surprise visit to make sure we were working and not taking the day off as a “jolly”. It was entirely fortuitous that we happened to be working at the very moment he appeared. He must have driven across especially to do this spot check as, after barking out a few instructions on what stands we should visit, he disappeared again.

Not entirely sure he had gone, we went round a number of aisles, and were trapped (there is no other word for it) on the stand of a tediously boring gentleman with a grey beard who sat us down in chairs (armchairs, but they were not comfortable) and went through an entire presentation on what his marketing software could do. This was delivered very slowly, in a monotone voice, which had an almost hypnotic effect – Zhu Guang actually closed his eyes. I was conscious of people passing and looking at us curiously, as if we were part of the stand’s exhibits, so frozen were our attitudes.

Because we still could not be completely sure Trevor Bush had left, we decided to remain in the exhibition centre for our lunch and went into Pizza Express. This restaurant must be the grandest pizza emporium I have ever dined in. It was Corinthian in style with heavy panelling, moulded cornices, and a coffered ceiling. White wine to drink (the house wine). A sort of doughy hors d’ouvres, then a traditional pizza, followed by a chocolate rum pudding. It was all very relaxed and civilised until Zhu Guang’s phone rang and once again we heard him shriek, indicating that it was Trevor Bush on the line. There was no need to worry, however, as Trevor Bush was already back at the office.

One more circuit of the exhibition, and we sat at one of the exhibition cafés and had some coffee. Then we left the exhibition and walked round to the station once again. Zhu Guang and Adrian Taylor went off to the West End. I got on a train to Ealing Broadway.

Ealing appeared to be extremely cosmopolitan. Discovering I had no money, I queued up in a congested bank to get some cash and then took a shabby cab to Ealing General Hospital. High on a hill in utilitarian 1970s architecture, the place had a depressing aspect, even with the grandeur of it’s setting and sweeping views of the western environs of London. On the 9th floor I saw my aunt, lying in a bed near the door. She was very surprised to see me. She told me about her accident, and subsequent operation – she has been in hospital for several weeks. I stayed about an hour, until her meal arrived. She seemed in fairly good spirits, but I was a little concerned that she does not have any friends in the flats where she lives, following the death of her neighbour (“It was a bad year last year” she said, “too many people died”). I asked her down to stay with my brother and myself, to convalesce, but I know she will not come. The house would awaken too many sad memories.