Like a bat from hell I fly down the stairs, my hijab, looking unusually winged this morning feverishly flaps behind me as if to give me that much needed boost. Needless to say, I am uncharacteristically late, running forty-five minutes behind schedule. When I run out of the front door, narrowly avoiding the Mothership with a steaming plate of laxoox inclusive of subag Soomali, tonnes of sonkor, unheeded, unsolicited and unwanted criticism on my choice of garb, I realise the thing sticking in the middle of my oesophagus is the multivitamin pill I tried to swallow waterlessly as I changed my jacket for a cardigan for the 4th time that morning. My wrap around skirt nearly reaches its preferred choice of destination (the neighbours' pavement) before I have the chance to get my key in the ignition. I drive at a breakneck speed down to what I call the crazy roundabout (which in reality is three roundabouts arranged in a lopsided triangle in the middle of a ginormous juntion) nearly drive into the side of a Chelsea tractor, whilst apologising in sign language to the dumbstruck driver I realise that if I hadn't slammed on the brakes I may have actually gotten to my place of work (hospital) on time.
That was me this morning trying to get to work on time.
1 comments:
Thank God you didnt crash into the lorry:) but i like the way you described your morning...something out of a novel, loved it:)ever thought of becoming a writer?
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