Well, its the Friday before Full Council on Monday, and as you'd expect following reports of us leaving £42m in Icelandic bank accounts, we the opposition at Nottingham City Council wanted to submit a question regarding the wisdom of this to the Council cabinet's financial spokesman. Thats fine. I start work at 8.45, questions don't need to be in til 10. Except Cross Country Trains are involved in the transport of me from rural South Leicestershire to Nottingham City Centre. And some fucker parked a disabled train in front of Birmingham station. So I get to work at 10 to 10 (thats an hour and five minutes I want back), find emails and desperate phone messages saying 'Adam, we need to ask a question about the Icelandic banks' (I told them they probably would need to last night, but no...), so I had 10 minutes to write, print and superimpose the group leaders signiature onto this question, then run it 400 metres across town to the Guildhall (thats where Nice Thesoundofbastards works).
I made it. The Council House (where i'd come from) bell burst forth upon 10am as I stumbled through the Committee section door, gasping. Handed the questions to the admin staff responsible. Attempted to say 'is this ok?' coughed, decended into a coughing fit (i've got a cold), double over leaning on the desk in an exhausted cough/laugh admission of the defeat of my respitory system, and was awash with the laughs of the committee section office staff. 'You can stroll back gentle now and have a fag' said one. Excellent advice for the man whos lungs are failing.
Oh I'm out of shape.
How's your morning?