Sun.30.07.06. The following morning I showed off the Merc to an admiring crowd. “Double glazing, electric pressure sensors, adjustable heated leather seats with memory, individual climo, 5 fuckin’ litres, and 0 to fuckin’ 60 in 3.2 secs. This is the dog’s bollocks” I smugly boasted, but by this time the crowd had disappeared, the jealous bastards. The hardy ones were requested to re-enact the wedding at the Oak at 6pm that evening. Tim had asked the Doc to put on a spread for the regulars as a sign of his generosity and Margaret’s wealth but everyone knew that it was in reality an act of guilt in order to pay back all the free pints of Guinness he has scammed over the past fifteen years. After two very slow Stella, Jo and I returned home, defeated.
Mon.31.07.06. This was the first day back at work. Chris had been painstakingly rubbing down the body for the last 5 weeks. But, there was no sign of the chassis or the new parts from Rimmers, Dave Brown had sacked himself, the DVLA wanted to see a finished car, the reconditioned parts were completely covered in tete dust, the screen was broken again: we are not going to make the deadline. For the very first time I have serious doubts about November.
Nonetheless, we have formulated a master plan fixing firm targets. Perhaps we should draw upon the specialist knowledge of the company responsible for the building of the new Wembley stadium.
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