A few days on, Donald rang. ‘Hi, Jim,’ he said with that laughing inflection of his. He had arranged an interview at the broking arm of a small merchant bank.
We were now several weeks into redundancy, and the garden was beginning to look considerably tidier, the train set was settling down into a layout involving tunnels, Alpine pastures, turntables, a viaduct, and a big station with a through line for passenger trains and sidings for shunting goods. Quite soon I would feel confident enough to start nailing the track to the baseboards. My piano playing was also giving me lots of pleasure, even if painful to all around.
Life was all rather pleasant. Sod it – who wanted to work anyway?
Donald’s interview was thus something of an ...