The Gorse Fox got away from Southbank and headed for the train. Tourists evidently don't understand that the Gorse Fox (when heading for the station) is a man on a mission. Bodies were hurled aside and pushed from bridges as he strode purposefully towards the tube. The question was whether he would arrive at Victoria in time to get some cash and get something to eat before the train left.
He was cutting things fine, but Nat West kindly hurled some money out of the slot in return for a quick browse of his bank card - then he ran (yes, heshould know better at his age) to Wasabi - but the queue was too long so executing a graceful and nobchalont pirouette he swung into Ixxys and ordered a bagel...
Leaping aboard the train he settled down to spill crumbs all over his keyboard as he spent the journey home looking for some new permutations of the solution that may change the price dynamics.
The train left on time... and arrived on time. Striding across the footbridge the Gorse Fox approached his car and plipped the key.
Nada
He plipped it again
Nada
He remembered there was an emergency manual key embedded in the fob and extracted it... but couldn't release the lock cover. He searched round for a cat to kick (metaphorically) and phoned home for the spare keys. The Silver Vixen came to the rescue and just before 10 GF settled down with a pear cider.
As he said... some days!
1 comment:
The joys of our technological age - ruined by a £2.50 battery!
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