MRS X ISN'T QUITE MY XAVIER

It’s been a funny few days. Mrs N decided she didn’t want to be in the public print any more, so I rapidly had to advertise for a personal assistant, conduct half a dozen interviews, and chose a candidate for my little job away from home this week. I chose a late-middle-aged, very organised Mrs Xavier (also very good-looking, but that’s by the by).

So it was that Mrs X and I were motoring towards Lincolnshire on a route I know well when suddenly, as I rounded a roundabout and headed towards the second exit, we encountered a row of sturdy bollards and a sign saying ROAD CLOSED and FOLLOW DIVERSION.

Closed!? Diversion? Where were the warning signs in the miles leading up to the closure? Nowhere. Not one. So I had to go back round the roundabout, cussing vehemently about the the incompetence of the highways authority (I fear Mrs X had led a sheltered life – she didn’t seem to know some of my choicer words) until we spotted, lying on the ground by the first exit, a sign saying Diversion.

The diversion went on for miles and miles, so I got Mrs X to locate the mapbook and find out how the road we were now on related to our destination. Or, as I put it, ‘Where the fuck are we?’

Mrs X grimaced and found our position quite easily. I was impressed. Even more so when she realised where the diversion was taking us. She then gave me an option – follow this A road we’re on, till we come to the next A road, and then a nifty left turn will put us back on track, OR I could whip down this B road and maybe save a few minutes.

I chose the latter. I should have known better.

After a few miles, Mrs X missed a sign for a left turn and we ended up going through villages that hadn’t seen a stranger since Queen Victoria’s last procession. Anyway, to cut a long story short, I got a bit cross and started cussing and blaming my navigator (well, shouting and snarling, really); and she said why hadn’t I seen the sign, and if she’d known I’d wanted a navigator she wouldn’t have applied for the job.

Anyway, we got there eventually, did the job, and jointly navigated our way back home without any more mishaps (bar the bad back, but more of that another time). However, the air was distinctly frosty. I’m not sure if the Blog and I can survive without Mrs N.