The Wrong Kind of Balls.

For a man who spends his working life dealing with timetables, Robbie's record of keeping to any kind of timetable in his private life is dismal. Yesterday he rang me at work to announce that he was still at work and wouldn't be back until 9.30pm, and he needed a lift. I couldn't express my annoyance adequately because I was at work, but he got the general impression.

When he finally got home, I expected him to be tired and just a little bit sorry for messing up our evening routine. Instead he appeared in the doorway of the lounge, hands on hips complaining that I had not discussed an important purchase with him. He complained that I had bought the wrong kind of tumble dryer balls, because the last ones eventually cracked. I told him that the previous ones had lasted for almost 3 years, not bad for 99p! He was not convinced and he said that he wants nothing to do with the new balls because they are the wrong brand. Oh well, he has two choices, he can either put up with it or manage without any balls!