Did I mention my partridge day on Tuesday? No, I thought not. Not a great day I’m afraid. First day new season on game is always a bit tricky. And the sun was in my eyes most drives. And I think the estate may have been breeding a new strain of partridges that fly twice as fast the traditional Frenchmen. And my socks kept falling down.
The host said to me on the third drive “Odd thing, but no one today seems to be able to shoot when I am standing with them”. A small covey came over and flew on untouched. I reloaded and said nothing. But, I thought, maybe you should go and join the beating line.
Also, something had happened the previous afternoon which rather distracted me. We are working on a very complex derivative instrument for a demanding and highly switched on client. To assist with this and to negotiate all the fine detail (I do find getting bogged down in the detail distracts me from maintaining the core structure of the deal) the firm has brought in a top industry consultant.
To make sure all was coming along nicely (you have to drive these chaps hard) I called my consultant about 4pm. “Can’t really talk” he said, “driving”. Anywhere interesting I enquired, slightly sarcastically; that’s not what we pay him £665 an hour for. “Shooting in Somerset, back on the job tomorrow night, don’t worry, ooops, I think I’m going into a blackspot” and the phone cut off.
I rang the client to assure him everybody was hard at work to deliver what he needs by next week. “Bit tricky to talk” he said, “on a train”. “Coming up to town?” I asked. “No”, he said, “Off to shoot in Somerset”. The phone went dead.
Obviously coincidence. Not good for steady concentration on superfast partridges though.
No comments:
Post a Comment