No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

It was a typical Friday, one of the two days I take the train South from my Midlands home to London. Make a brief appearance at the office, and bolt back to Brum before the mass weekend exodus from the city to the Cotswold’s. It’s a complete waste of time; we never get anything done on a Friday. Most of my colleagues have al-ready adopted the four-day week. The one we were all promised we would get decades ago as the machines were sup-posed to make our lives easier.

As fate would have it, I would leave home for the office today, utterly un-aware of the life-changing calamities that were about to occur to me. Every-thing was perfectly normal; but that’s the time calamities always use as cover before they strike. On my journey south, as the beautiful English countryside whizzed by at 80 mph, I read the newspaper, The Times, from cover to cover. I’m old school; I still like reading the paper version of this bastion of English, conservative thought. I had always voted for the Conservative party, even with the last two chumps at the helm.

I had managed to complete all but two of the crossword puzzles questions. Far better than my usual effort, and I was feeling quite pleased with myself as the train pulled into London’s Euston station, on time for once.
They say no good deed goes unpunished, but I’ve never believed that at least not until now.