Low Life
6 June 2009
The voice of reason
Three quarters of an hour later I rang him again, this time from the back seat of a police patrol car. My number plate had been noted at a checkpoint, fed into the computer and my lack of a valid MOT certificate had come to light. I’d been stopped and handed a fixed-penalty notice for £60. I’d rung, I said, because the policemen were standing outside the car debating whether I should be allowed to continue with a bald tyre. So I might not get there today either.
Well, he said, today he’d be at the workshop till five. And if I couldn’t make it across Bournemouth by then, I should also know that he was going on holiday at the end of July for ten days. Ecstatic laughter in the background told me that this constituted a perhaps rare flash of levity from a man not noted for letting his feelings run away with him.
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