Fat Mac arranged for himself, myself and Catherine di to have a coffee this week. A long time ago I was Catherine di’s boss for a while. I like her, and enjoy hearing her news, and was looking forward to coffee and conversation, as per the last time the three of us met up, rather than beer and bawling, which tends to be what happens when I meet up only with Fat Mac.
Mac sent me an email saying we were all to meet at the Filmhouse cafe at 4 pm on Monday. He said that although it’s a cafe, it also sells booze, but that is no problem, because he’s given up drinking.
Unfortunately Mac, who has never mastered emailing more than one person at a time, when emailing Catherine di, forgot all about Monday and told her we were all meeting up at 4 pm on Tuesday. I didn’t know anything about this.
It gets worse.
On Monday afternoon, as I was making my way to the Filmhouse, Mac found himself down at the Botanic Gardens. At 3.30 pm he suddenly thinks to himself, for unknown reasons, “My goodness. This is Tuesday. I’m supposed to be meeting Rodz and Catherine up at the Filmhouse at 4 pm today!” So he takes off, and runs home in a complete rush.
He puts on his jacket and is about to go out the door to go to the Filmhouse, when he looks at his newspaper, and sees that it is not Tuesday, as he thought, but rather Monday. “Phew!” he thinks to himself, and puts the kettle on for a cuppa tea.
Just at that time, at 4.15 pm (Monday), I am in the Filmhouse cafe, and there’s no sign of Fat Mac or Catherine di. So I phone Mac on his mobile. The conversation goes something like:
R: “Hi Mac. Where are you?”
FM: “Ah’m at hame. Where are yous?”
R: “I’m at the Filmhouse,waiting for you to pitch up for coffee.”
FM: “Rodz. It’s not Tuesday! I just looked at the newspaper, and it’s not Tuesday. Are you having a senior moment, or something?”
R: “I know it’s not Tuesday. It’s Monday.”
FM: “Then why are yous at the Filmhouse?”
R: “I’m at the Filmhouse because you arranged to meet Catherine di and myself for a coffee at 4 pm.”
FM: “But it’s not Tuesday.”
R: “What day do you think it is, today, Mac?”
FM: “Definitely Monday, though an hour ago I thought it was Tuesday.”
R: “Correct. It’s Monday. What day did you arrange to meet me and Catherine di for coffee?”
R: “Then why does the email I’m looking at say ‘See you on Monday at 4 pm, then, Rodz.'”
FM: “Is Catherine di there, with you?”
R: “No! I’m by myself. Having a lemonade. Waiting for someone to talk to. ”
FM: “Rodz. Are yous sure it’s Monday, and not Tuesday?”
R: “Today? Or when we’re supposed to be having coffee? In both cases, the answer is Monday.”
FM: “But I said Tuesday. Listen, Rodz, whatever day it is, I’ll be up there in hawf an ‘oor.”
It gets worse. When Fat Mac gets to the Filmhouse cafe he’s still not worked out what has happened with the arrangements and, flustered, buys the first of what turns out to be several pints of Guinness. Except that the barman doesn’t hear him correctly, and pours him a pint of lager instead. Mac, now utterly confused because he never drinks lager, looks at the lager, looks at me, and says, “Rodz. Why am I drinking lager on Tuesday? And where’s Catherine di?”
I expect I can look forward to a lot more of this sort of thing, as my friends get older.
It got worse. Realising that it was a good idea, in case Mac got confused again, I stayed on the lemonade. After five pints of Guinness, however, Fat Mac started insulting a charming lady sitting near to us, merely because he thought she looked llike a ‘No’ voter, and we felt obliged to leave.