WHOOPS!

If we hadn't bumped into each other scouring for bargains at the Asda Whoops! trolley during the winter of 2008/09, Amy and I may never have overcome the office awkwardness that beleaguers people in their mid 20s. She was a specialist in it, and still is.

What a crying shame it would have been. The source of endless sarcastic Skype and Whatsapp messages, coaching in the art of speaking Liverpudlian, cycling forays (including those memorable trips to Denmark and the Netherlands with Elizabeth), rescues with spare pants when I was hospitalised, and lunches with the objective of smashing the patriarchy, Amy has been a mainstay of my life in Cambridge.

As I have aged I have become more inept at punctuality. Or more busy and important, depending on one's view. I usually leave Amy waiting for between 21 and 60 minutes when we have agreed to meet. The worst was when I still lived in Ely and was due to meet Amy and Elizabeth in Cambridge for breakfast at 8am. I woke up a few minutes past 8 and a good hour's faffing away. I had to leave them to it.

I vow to do better before I emigrate to Mozambique, where I will have sweet release from the death glare which I am greeted with when I arrive late.