What I Told The Boss
The Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú Director General visited us in Inverness recently and everyone was on their best behaviour, with one notable exception: me.
Mark Thompson - for it is he - had been in Stornoway and didn't get to Inverness until the early evening. I was dashing back from Edinburgh. The usual train journey.
Now, normally, I would walk from Inverness station and up Castle Street to the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú building. It takes about ten minutes. Fifteen when I'm humphing luggage.
That night, however, I was so worried about running late that I actually got into a taxi. Now, don't panic. I paid for it myself. Nevertheless it drew up in the Â鶹¹ÙÍøÊ×Ò³Èë¿Ú car park just as the DG was making his way to the front door. He, of course, had walked from the middle of town.
It looked bad. And things got worse when I explained that the front door was locked at this time of night and you had to use the security door at the rear of the building.
One nano-second too late it struck me that it might be best if I actually did that and opened the front door for him.
Oh and there's there was the over-enthusiastic way I talked about the variety in my job. You know...sport, drama, music, comedy...never a dull moment.
It was only later than it dawned on me that his job might have just a little more variety in it than mine.
I'll get my coat.
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