Finest Hour

I was famished when I got home. So I wasn’t pleased to find a man in my bedsit. ‘Mr Godber? Your landlady kindly let me in. I have a proposition for you.’ I’d spent the afternoon factoring bank holidays into my ‘working days to retirement’ spreadsheet, seething after being volunteered for the department’s paperclip audit. ‘I don’t need any life assurance, thanks.’ He chuckled. ‘No, … Continue reading Finest Hour