30th January, 2014I was driving Tommy back to his mansion. Why I was still his designated driver, I had no idea. A few days ago, he had purchased several new cars, including a Ferrari, Ranger Rover, something pink for the missus and a Bentley Continental, which was the car he had me driving him home in.
He sat in the back and poured himself a brandy. Before I had gotten into the car he’d made me put on a chauffeur’s cap and a jacket. It was imperative that as soon as I got the chance I informed him that I already had a vocation as a documentarian, and that I had no wish to be his official chauffeur. If I chickened out of doing that, then I’d need to ask the obvious – what did the job pay and was there a pension?
We pulled up onto his gravel-laden driveway and went into his house. Brenda
