In contrast, a troubled reflection of my lined face stares back at me in the carriage window, I look worn out. The chipped ends of my forgotten fingernails tap gently on the keys of my laptop. The guy over the way is banging out an email at a furious pace; it’s almost as irritating as the drum solo leaking out of some headphones nearby. I’m feeling old and just a bit threadbare this morning.
Today I’m working through a condition survey in the ex Arab Consulate building in London’s Belgrave Square, which was once the residence of the Duke of Bedfordshire. It is going to be partially restored to its former glory. The remainder will be finished in a modernist style, let us hope the two don’t clash. The new owner has also bought one of the OTT apartments at the job I’ve just finished, One Hyde Park, allegedly the most expensive residential development in Europe.
There’s another, altogether stranger connection between the two jobs. The owner (possibly a Quatari royal) has had a mock up of the master bedroom at OHP built in one of the gutted rooms at Belgrave Square. Get this, to R&D the aircon! He wants to get it right before it’s installed so he doesn’t have to endure any draughts when flicking through Yachting World in bed on a lazy Monday morning. Shit, that’s some kind of crazy lifestyle Mr Oil-rich dude.
Waving away luminous visions of a complete set of Ducatis lined up in my shed, I have to report that the clutch lever assembly fell off the Black Bullet the other day. I’m pleased to have found this fault before my trip to Redditch (which is taking on a Waiting for Godot-like air). The lever assembly is clamped to the bars by two bolts, one of which has stripped its thread. I’m going to have to buy a tap and die and rethread the clamp to make a proper job of the repair.
Prince William has followed my lead and proposed to Kate Middleton, yes, that’s right, and she said yes. William got lucky too, so everybody’s happy.
