Don’t you just
hate it when your office stinks of rhubarb?
This standard
problem usually comes about as a result of your dad giving you a plastic bag of
the stuff - picked from his garden - when you met him for coffee earlier in
the week. Then, because you were going out for a meal that evening without going
home first, you had no choice but to leave it in your office overnight, rather
than take it to the restaurant. We’ve all been there more than once.
There are worse
things an office could smell of; the manure you might spread over the rhubarb
to help it grow, for example. I’d rather have the whiff of future crumble in
the air than the stench of shit, as I’ve always said; it’s a maxim I live my
life by, which is surprising, as I’ve only just come up with it; that’s how
profound those words are to me.
It was nice to
meet my dad, as it gave me a break from the work I’d been doing all day, which
mainly consisted of booking previews and writing press releases, which is all I
seem to do at the moment. Then, as my dad left, I bumped into my friend
Ollie (who used to run Mostly Comedy's old venue The Croft) for a quick drink
and a catch up, though I had to explain the reason I had a bag of rhubarb with
me. Not long afterwards, a mutual friend joined us, who I decided not to give the rhubarb's back story, as this seemed more amusing then him being filled
in; it’s good to cultivate a little mystery ('cultivate' being the appropriate
word in this vegetable-based instance).