I was late to work today, which I hate. Stuart is always in early, so he knows when I’m late, but he also goes home early, so he never knows about all the nights I work late, unless I tell him, and then I have the feeling he doesn’t believe me. I try to send an email about something or other immediately before I leave work, but of course I could be doing that from home while sipping on a glass of wine and watching Frasier. Anyway, this morning, as I was about to back out my driveway, with plenty of time up my sleeve, I noticed it had been barricaded off, as men (I’m not being sexist, they were all men, well, they all looked like men.) were resurfacing my road. A heads-up would have been useful. Went and spoke with the traffic control bloke, and he said I’d have to wait about an hour before I could get out. I said it would have been good to have been warned the day before, as I could have parked around the corner. He said, yes, everybody’s been saying that.
When I finally got to work, I rang Gary’s local police station and explained his situation. They were aware of the issue, and said they were doing all they could, but not to hold my breath.
Rang Gary to pass this on and asked him how he was going. He said he was OK. He has his disability pension (and I suspect an additional agricultural source of income) and owns his van, which he proudly tells me contains a television, a microwave and a deep fryer. He said it’s pretty cool. He has a few friends in the caravan park, and in the evening they have a couple of beers and a smoke together. The couple who own the park seem to look after him. They let him stay cheap and read any letters to him that come for him, as he can’t read. He sounded cheerful enough and had forgotten all about the Sandi issue. I wished him well and hung up.