Morning in London...

Oh the irony of it all.

For the first time in many a moon, I waltzed into the office before 10.00 to find that anyone and everyone that it would be useful to have see me in so comparatively early is either working from home today or has called in sick. Ah well, worse things happen at sea.

And I'm clearing off early as it is games night tonight, so snub.

Now, far be it from me to assign random personalities and back stories to complete strangers, but I believe that I travelled between Euston and Victoria with an enforcer for OdeSSa this morning.

I fancy his code name must be das Skalpell

Imagine a man in his mid thirties, short, thinning hair combed back and oiled. Thin, angular face and small, rectangular glasses. He was wearing a well tailored pinstripe suit with a blue shirt, but no tie, wearing it open collar instead. Generally too tidy and well groomed for such a display of deliberate casualness.

The dead give away of course, was the fact that he stared into the middle distance without acknowledging the presence of any other person on the train, standing unmoving, as if welded to the spot, unlike normal folks who grab a hold of anything they can to prevent themselves being barrelled around by the moving Tube train. That and the small medical bag he had with him.

He disappeared into the crowd at Victoria. I wonder what nefarious mission he might be on for his aging overlords?

Morning in London...

Oh the irony of it all.

For the first time in many a moon, I waltzed into the office before 10.00 to find that anyone and everyone that it would be useful to have see me in so comparatively early is either working from home today or has called in sick. Ah well, worse things happen at sea.

And I'm clearing off early as it is games night tonight, so snub.

Now, far be it from me to assign random personalities and back stories to complete strangers, but I believe that I travelled between Euston and Victoria with an enforcer for OdeSSa this morning.

I fancy his code name must be das Skalpell

Imagine a man in his mid thirties, short, thinning hair combed back and oiled. Thin, angular face and small, rectangular glasses. He was wearing a well tailored pinstripe suit with a blue shirt, but no tie, wearing it open collar instead. Generally too tidy and well groomed for such a display of deliberate casualness.

The dead give away of course, was the fact that he stared into the middle distance without acknowledging the presence of any other person on the train, standing unmoving, as if welded to the spot, unlike normal folks who grab a hold of anything they can to prevent themselves being barrelled around by the moving Tube train. That and the small medical bag he had with him.

He disappeared into the crowd at Victoria. I wonder what nefarious mission he might be on for his aging overlords?