Speed traps

January 12, 2013

I try not to drive too much, because living in London – well, ok, Brentford – generally renders a car unnecessary, expensive (congestion charge), a target for thieves unless you pay a fortune for a garage, and a general waste of time, money and emotional capital.

Thus it was with some trepidation that I finally made use of my zipcar account last week. This was partly because I was dpi g some work for them (online direct mail, or if you prefer, e-newsletters) and partly because I had to move some stuff for Magnus, my son and heir.

Hmm. Well, I haven’t told you about Magnus. I’ve been blogging for , without looking, a couple of years now, and I may not have talked about him much on here because, well, to be brutally frank, we haven’t seen eye to eye for some years.

There is much of his mother in him, but no great evidence of me, which sometimes makes me think uncharitably of his mother… Oh there’s the doorbell … To be continued.

Where was I? Oh yes, Magnus, and his stuff. Well, I was curled in my Minnie driver onesie last Friday night when the doorbell rang. Answering it, I found a tall young fellow who much to my surprise, embraced me and tearfully blurted out ‘dad!’ as if in some strange unaccountable way, we might be related. Now, I didn’t stint myself-3-


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