Being fashionably late is not something to aspire to. It is, in fact, the root of all evil.
Despite knowing this fact full well I’ve never managed to kick the habit. As a teenager, my tardy behaviour resulted in numerous reprimands. At home, curfews came with constant sanctions as I drove my parents crazy with my terrible time-keeping.
Even as I write this I’m already late for turning my copy in. So it should come as no surprise that this week I almost missed my train to London due to lack of giddy-up.
Rushing for the 9.15 there was added pressure of getting a ticket to Big Red, who was patiently waiting at the platform.
Hurtling down the concourse at the speed of Concorde I boarded with seconds to spare.
Then the announcement that I was on the 9.30 East Coast train to London induced a minor heart attack.
I was on the wrong train.
Flapping as I broke the news to Big Red she calmly informed me I was indeed on the right train but had been late for meeting her.
My life lesson – stop being late or prepare for a massive cardiac arrest.