My most recent publisher is Greenwich Exchange. As I was going to Greenwich to stay three nights at the Greenwich Mercure Hotel, I let my publisher (James Hodgson) know. He emailed to suggest lunch or coffee. Knowing the generous size of hotel breakfast buffets I opted for coffee; we agreed to meet at 4.00 on Saturday.
However, we did not make any further contact, and I arrived at the hotel on Friday evening, not knowing where we were to meet. This, my friends, is where a mobile phone comes in handy. At least it does for most folk. I have one I bought for £8.49 at Tesco and generally it lies undisturbed in the car's glove compartment. Before leaving home, I remembered to enter James Hodgson's name and number into the phone's directory. So, while staring out from our fifth-floor window towards the distant London Eye, I attempted contact.
I attempted contact, on and off, for about 30 minutes. No success. 'Let's see that thing,' said my wife. After a few seconds she informed me that I'd entered my own number beside James Hodgson's name and had been trying to phone myself, only to find I was engaged!
And so eventually we retired to bed without me knowing where the Saturday meeting was to take place. Until, just before midnight, a long white envelope came sliding mysteriously under the door. A phone message from James had been typed out by the hotel receptionist. The meeting was to take place in Greenwich at 'water stands'. What were they? A medieval Gents?
Greenwich is extremely historical.
It wasn't until Saturday morning that my wife had a second moment of revelation and guessed (accurately) that James and Jim were to meet outside the Greenwich branch of an extremely well-known chain of bookshops.
What it is to live in the age of communication!
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