Ode to the toff and in memory of.
Through an unfortunate error on the email systems today in the workplace, I discovered that a business contact, with whom I was incredibly fond of both in business practise and one hoped a development outside of that, was caught in a fatal car accident last year.
Ben Deakin, 24, worked for Ancoris (partnered with Google and their Postini systems). He was not only the embodiment of professionalism, he was a dear soul that I had the pleasure of meeting just once, at a Google seminar a few years ago. Whilst the rest of our communication was by phone, he had a way of dealing with matters large or small that just worked. Ben, you will be sorely missed, even by this cornered little IT bistro and resident tea monkey.
To matters far simpler, I’m hurtling down on the train again to Plymouth, sanctuary of the Demi-God, for what will be one of the last weekend trips. It will be quite the interesting change of scenery in September, but there’s still much to prepare for between now and then. Notably all the banking changes to go from monthly engrossed IT manager, to humble student scraper.
So to that train. I’m currently standing in the bar/kitchen coach because there’s no seats left from the London commuter crowd, hurtling down Network Rail’s finest and best at 125mph. Life insurance need not apply. To the bar arrive 2 gentlemen for whom farts are the stuff of honeysuckle and for whom the tide takes order from of when to roll in and divide.
“Wine please, what do you have?” You could immediately sense the feeling of ‘underclassism’ running through the bar tenders mind. Producing the bottle of white, the toff exclaims, “You can’t serve this to me, I can’t drink warm wine. Do you have any ice buckets? The bartender shakes his head in apology. “Well I simply can’t have this, can you not find a chilled one?”
Had this been the finest establishment East of Hyde Park, the management would be summoned to apologise profusely for the total and utter disaster that had befallen in the wine chiller. Immediate suggestion of “on the house, free of charge” would be proclaimed to all the diners in a bid to uphold reputation. Sadly for the toff, his Pringle sweater, corded red trousers and hand stitched shoes, this was the 15:30 railed people stacker out to Land’s End. .. and he wasn’t in First Class.
One sympathises. No wait… I don’t.