Life is full of choices

MEMORIES can be dangerous things. If wrong of course they can cause endless and unexpected trouble. If correct they can encourage mistaken expectations. And if it is someone else's memory then anything is possible.

In this case the 'anything' wasn't too serious but, shall we say, embarrassing. It started by me being invited to a party. “You'll love it” she said, giving me that amazing smile that she knew very well cut right to my heart. “They are terrific fun and the house is amazing,,, fantastic views and a pool to die for”.

“It 's January”, I said pointedly.

“Yes but it's heated...”

“But not actually inside anything?” I asked.

“Well, no... but she makes a fantastic punch.”

I would have been happier if he made the punch frankly. My experience was that punch when made by the lady of he household lacked, well punch actually.

“I drink gin or red wine” I pointed out lamely.

“Oh you! You're bloody impossible”, she said and stormed off back to her desk. I lingered a while longer at the cooler to ensure no one thought I had only been there to talk to Faye. I had of course. She was that rare combination – lovely to look at; lovely to be with. I had some advantages. Faye was tall – going close to six foot but I was 6ft 3in and so just topped her. I was technically her superior. That is to say I was one step closer to a directorship I would never get while she was, frankly a candidate. And anyway, my department consisted of three of us; hers was 27 marketing types, mostly graduates.

Anyway, she knew I would go. First off it was business – he was the boss. Second I would go alone. Third, so would she. And finally – the booze and the food were free and would be absolutely top class. That pleased both our tastes.

It was a Sunday do. Garden party sort off but they had this huge barn in which he kept his motors; if it was wet they would go under canvas and we would not. And he had hired a regional band I was pretty keen on. And finally the option was a trip to her mum's.

I headed off back to the den. Since the US takeover life had been suspiciously quiet for a PR department that used to worry time and motion people. Oh we still put out releases but they stalled in Seattle and often came back approved but too late to make waves. And partly as a result of that we had fewer press calls to handle. Plus of course where once we were the fount of all reasonable wisdom on internetty stuff we now had to bow to the US. That meant we were no longer “headline Harry” or “soundbite Sid”. Happily they still seemed too quite like us so there was no pain. Yet.

I called up my contacts and punched in the boss's name – many phone numbers, emails and more but oddly no address. Just the word Hottenham. That seemed strange; how come I didn't have his address? Anyway a call to his secretary corrected that. But it left me little wiser – a posh house name, a lane and post code. Anyway I listed it. Writing this now I have to chuckle. What! No sat nav? Not back then friends. This was paper maps and chewed fingernails.

The day wore on, a mite slowly until lunch. Back then we still took lunch. We feared our American colleagues disapproved. They 'attended' things at lunch time or half eat something unhealthy at their desks. And if there was a birthday, engagement or even good news in a blue package there would be a 'do'.

These varied in location and duration but never in content. Some food, much wine or beer. And relevant bosses (namely me and Faye) would be invited to ensure approval. If it looked a really heavy do then both of us would go up one level – same man; same question; same enthusiastic response. We would smile gainfully and convey the dubious news – yes the boss will be there. “Oh good” never sounded so uncertain. But Joe was a decent sort. He would join in, stay an hour or so and the leave saying “Don't be too long now” and we would probably relax. Or not. If the 'too'; was stressed it was fine. If was terse or was in some way absent then it would be drink up and head back.

Today was also a Friday. Now this had always been Poets day. Or rather POETS day as in Piss Off Early, Tomorrow's Saturday. There were exception. Marketing department's are notorious for setting duff deadlines and too often we had to stuff envelopes late on a Friday afternoon to catch the last post!

“Nothing pending?” I asked Faye as I ambled past on my way to the car park. “Not this week” she smiled happily. “You going my way?” she asked all innocent and loudly for the benefit of nearby ears. “Meera's birthday bash. Come on if you are actually ready...”

“Coat” she lied and I sat down for the obligatory 10 minutes 'tidy up'.

The Eight Bells was busy, but mostly with our mob. Or rather mobs. It appeared this particular January day had been a popular day for birthing internet types. Anyway we found Marketing easily enough by the noise and general mayhem.

It all went very well and boss Joe had been invited of course and made a little speech. It went well really – if only he knew how dreadful his two predecessors had been there would be no living with him. Or stopping him perhaps! He even got a kiss from Meera which would have set a few pulses racing.

“Time to head back” I said a while later (Joe had done the decent thing but I had to drive). “By the way” I asked Faye. “Where exactly in Hottenham is the Chief Exec's home?”.

She gave me a very odd look. “What!? Chief Exec! When did you ever call Peter that?”

“Just doing the new US tango” I replied, laughing.

“Well anyway can you even find Hottenham?”

I ignored her.

“Well if you head through the village you will come to a cross roads. Turn left and then in about half a mile there's a turning to the left – its the second - and its down there. About another half mile.”

“Which direction?” I asked.

“What do you mean? In Hottenham.”

“Yes but coming from which...”

“Oh, yes well from Cambridge.”

Back in the car park she decided to head for home. I hoped vaguely for a kiss goodbye but our pally friendship did not extend that far. So a wave had to suffice.

Forty minutes making sure the ship was not leaking (to coin a phrase) and I too was off home, confident that I could find Peter's place.

Come the day I headed off in good time, found Hottenham and drove into the village and out. The first cross roads came up and I turned left. One junction, two, grotty but that does that count...... I took it. Half a mile and... well nothing but after about a mile there was a turning and I took it.

Back in Cottenham I looked around for some help but at 12 noon on a Sunday English villages can be suddenly deserted I went back to the main road. Maybe I missed something. Back at the crossroads I hesitated. But I turned left again and this time I ignored the grotty little lane and after about a half mile there was a second small turning. I took it and found myself in the grounds of a huge house. I thought, for a party, it looked a bit quiet but drove up. A few people on the lawn watched me. One of them stood up and came over. “Er, is this Peter X's place?” I inquired. Then I made the mistake. “Only he has a big party on today and I may have been given the wrong directions.”

My inquisitor looked first angered then laughed. “Oh this is a good one” he said, leaving me puzzled. “No, we are his neighbours sort of. I'll draw you a map.” Which he did and I followed it, noting immediately it was both familiar and strikingly different.

The third left yielded a nice lane and then the amazing old but beautifully restored home of my top boss. I parked in the temporarily vacant paddock with the BMWs, Mercs, and a couple of Astons. To be honest the Audi didn't look too shabby. I soon found friends, gathered in some drinks and food and got into the party swing. There was, as I expected, no swimming and we were mostly in the barn. The band was as good as I expected and the do went well. Right up to the moment top boss Peter approached a group of us. “Ah” he said “You'll be the one. He said a beard.” He wasn't angry but something had clearly spooked him. ”I go to endless lengths to avoid having to invite my infernal neighbour and what do you do? Make sure he knows I snubbed him”. And he stormed off.

I turned to Faye. “Don't you blame me” she said. “I gave you good directions!”.

“Hmm” I said, “But did you remember exactly how many junctions after the cross roads I should turn left at?”