Parents’ Evening

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CC Image courtesy of psd on Flickr(Continued from Breaking All The Rules)

It must have come through as I dashed down the steps of the tube station.  I read it waiting for the train to arrive.

‘Don’t rush, if you see what I mean.’

For the first time since October, I really don’t see what VP means.  Paranoia having by now set in, I have a mental picture of something akin to a parents’ evening: VP – good-looking, charming, funny – sitting at the bar, meeting a succession of nervous-looking women.  Slots start to run over until he’s forced to dash off a text, hinting to his next appointment that it would be OK, desirable even, if she wasn’t perfectly punctual.


The platforms at Euston are unfamiliar, so I miss my connection and have to wait a while for the next train.  I get to the venue ten minutes late.

‘Can I see your wristband?’


Or, by this stage, grrrr.

‘… I don’t have one.  I’m er meeting a friend and they didn’t say I needed one…’

‘Is your friend already here?  Does she have one?’

I have no idea if he has a wristband.


‘Call your friend and ask her to come out.’



He sounds wary.

‘Hey, it’s Anna.  I’m outside, but I don’t have a wristband.’

‘O-K.’  A pause.  ‘Walk – walk west and I’ll meet you on the corner, outside Nando’s.’

Weird, but fine.



CC Image courtesy of estherase on Flickr

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