I have discovered for the first time in my life there is something worse than being a reluctant, lone traveller.As the French so wisely say, “Better alone than poorly accompanied”. And on this trip I am. (The latter) OFT, who is extravagantly charming to his colleagues when we arrive – somewhere a little north of the equator- has exposed me to a noxious blend of disdain and contempt since we left Blighty, 2 days ago.My abiding memory will be of his bullish, fat neck rolling over collar of his white, linen shirt and the back view of his low-slung beige chinos and stupid tan-coloured brogues as he strides away from me on the airport travelator with never a backward glance. Putting as much distance as possible between us. We have travelled completely separately yet are ostensibly together. We re-convene solely for boardng pass inspections or at passport control. My bags have been heavy.
This time for the first, despite my very recent infirmities and extended recuperations, he has not once offered to help despite having just one small, light laptop case with him. Other members of the travelling public have assisted – a man helping me extract a stuck airport trolley from its ranks last night as we waited for luggage – He is loathsome. He is a Monster.
The River Files 