Worried Man Blues

Wednesday March 15, 2006

Another day of zero activity brought me to boiling point around four-thirty this afternoon.

“I think it’s time we switched from good cop to bad cop,” I said.

“Fine. You’re right. What will you do first?”

“See why the agent hasn’t called back as he promised you he would when you spoke to him yesterday.”

I’ll not document my phone conversation with the agent. I took it right to the edge of fury without stepping over and, while I said nothing of which I need be ashamed, the spirit of it was out of character with my normal charming self. The memory of it will fade but a written record would not.

My efforts may yield results tomorrow. We shall see.

We sat down and worked out last possible dates, and skirted around the subject of what we shall do if they are not met. I’m not going to document that, either, for reasons of not crossing bridges before we come to them.

“How much wine do we have in the cupboard?” Graham asked.

“One bottle of cheap-o Australian white.”

“Put your coat on. We’ll go over to the Co-op in Spilsby and I’ll treat us to a couple of bottles of something drinkable.”

“Why, what are we celebrating?”

“Oh, just getting through another frustrating day. Getting mildly sozzled will do us both the world of good.”

“Fair enough.”

Some time later, about half-way down the second bottle of Jacob’s Creek Riesling, I turned my empty glass upside down on its coaster and announced I’d had enough.

“It’s absolutely spiffing wine,” I said, “but if I drink another drop I’ll not be able to cook dinner.”

“That would never do. What’s on the menu?”

“Chicken in Italian tomato and herb sauce with fresh veggies.”

So the remaining half-bottle was sealed and put back in the fridge and I settled to the task of producing our evening meal. The sauce was good but when I tasted it during the cooking I wasn’t convinced it was piquant enough so I sloshed half a glass of vermouth in it.

That made all the difference.

At the very end of the day, examining my feelings as the alcohol fades, I remain as certain as I can be that we will in fact conclude the sale, and the move, in time to set up in Somerset for the Easter holiday and the summer beyond. I’m equally certain that the blighters at the beginning of the chain will take us right up to the wire before exchange.

Hey ho. We’ll get through it. The Co-op has plenty of wine.


It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
It takes a worried man to sing a worried song
I’m worried now but I won’t be worried long
from a traditional American folk song: Worried Man Blues



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