On the way home from the opera I step into a shop to get out of the rain, and buy something to eat against the cold – a late-night post-operatic chittery-bite.
In front of me are two young men dressed in much less than I am. They are the worse for wear and arguing.
Drunk Young Man #1: Well we’ll ask someone else then.
Drunk Young Man #2: Yes! Someone neutral.
They turn to me.
DYM#1: Here man. Settle an arugment for us will you. Is coronavirus real or is it propoganda
Self: I think it is real.
DYM#2: Aye man. Told you. It *is* real. He said so. Here, I bet you do a very responsible job
DYM#1: Aye very responsible. What are you man?
I hesitate a moment and consider how to answer.
DYM#2: I bet he’s a Supply Chain Manager. Are you a Supply Chain Manager, man?
I smile a smile that I hope will look like the smile of a cold wet Supply Chain Manager.
DYM#2: I knew it.
DYM#1: Hey, do you have a lighter?
I shake my head.
We are all forlorn that I do not have a lighter.
A Glaswegian ‘Waiting for Godot’ moment.
I wonder if there’s some twist of logic whereby the provost of a cathedral can actually be described as a supply chain manager . . .?
Scotland’s own Beckett.