I give a wrong time, stop a traffic line...
6.40 Wake up; snooze
6.45 X calls from Budapest, having missed the bus to Bratislava for the flight to Rome. Y in flurry of internet action
7.00 Z gets up; breakfast consists of coffee, X's notorious unreliability and a piece of grandma's cherry cake. High point.
7.10 Plan finalised for X's journey, train to Mosonmagyarovar, Y to pick up by car
7.26 Y and Z begin driving to the train station, for my journey to teach these kids English
7.28 Puncture highly evident, car pulled over
7.31 Taxi called to take Z to the station. Jack and handle removed from boot of Renault
7.32 Cousin Y phoned in request for help; Y's foot holds jack while Z jacks
7.34 Jack handle tool/Z's strength woefully inadequate for removing lug nuts
7.37 Heels being kicked, humming
7.40 Taxi arrives too late to be worth it
7.43 Decision that taxi not needed; driver demands waiting fee, Z shouts at driver, Y pays half fee; Y and Z's chances of ever getting home at 3am again reduced by 35%
7.45 Z asks deaf man in parked van for an alternative to his crappy tool. Jesus to the rescue, dressed thus
7.47 Wheel off; at station, train leaves
7.49 Spare tyre on; helpful man's friend arrives, Jesus tool returned in nick of time
7.50 Tory leader David Cameron wants to prove to people that the Tories can make the changes they want to see
7.51 Cousin arrives in vulgar giant BMW with unknown companion in passenger seat
7.53 Cousin departs; punctured tyre back in boot, wits gathered
and all before I am usually even up. Yikes.
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2 comments:
Y sends regards and love from Rome. 8 blisters - new shoes... ajjjjajjjjj
See, being Italian doesn't make them good. Like the pizza I had in Bari in April 2003.
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