If it weren't for you pesky kids.........

I don't do angry at all.

I may look a little bit disgruntled and affronted but I just do not do all that red faced, high blood pressure, stomping, thumping and out loud cursing that usually characterises anger in others.

I can however sulk big time and as for muttering profanities and insults under my breathe I positively excel.

Take today.

There was an issue of identifying myself in a local Estate Agents' office in order to persuade them to release a set of keys for a property that I had been asked to survey. Perhaps I was a bit full,of my own importance in thinking that just turning up and asking nicely for keys would be enough. I was wearing a suit and so hoped that others would perceive me as a Professional.

My shoes, black Hush Puppies city types had been freshly rubbed up and down the back of my trouser legs and on a still and cold day even my notoriously unruly hair looked reasonably tidy and respectable.

It was not as if I had never been in that particular office before but such is the high turnover of staff in that particular business sector that I did not recognise any of the three uniformed individuals behind the wine-bar type counter.

I announced that my secretary had rung ahead to book the keys and brandished my four pages of instructions and site notes like Neville Chamberlain on the airfield concourse.

I was met with a blank expression from all there assembled.

The young lad closest to the desk asked if I had any formal identification such as a photo card or similar. I was on the verge of replying "are you joking?" but laid out the aforementioned bundle of papers on the desk pointing out the company name, my name, the client and the address of the property.

It was not good enough to satisfy the lad. I summised that he was probably fresh to the job, perhaps even on his first day and keen to impress his superiors with his knowledge of procedures and practices, straight from the manual and quality control protocols.

I made a motion to pat down my pockets in the vain hope of finding my driver licence or an acceptable form of ID. All I could sense in my breast and trouser pockets was a McDonalds Loyalty Card (Only 1 sticker off a free coffee), a shopping list on a large used envelope for that evenings' family meal, a screwed up chewing gum wrapper with used gum, various bits of pencils and pens and an Order of Service for the funeral of a former colleague.

The three newbies in the room continued to look blankly at me but secretly they must have been anticipating my next move. The smart money will have been on full scale melt down and indignant request to see a supervisor followed by blushing apologetic retreat , petulant sneer or frantic mobile phone call to my own office.

I told you that I don't do angry and so offered to return to my car and retrieve the necessary form of identification.

The office was located in a very busy part of town and it had been a case of parking some distance away in the first available street side bay rather than gambling on having to lap the one-way system many times until another nearer spot loomed.

It was a round trip of about ten minutes on foot before I confidently re-entered armed with more than one piece of formal documentation. The original enforcer of the ID regime was missing and a young girl stepped up to verify that I was who I purported to be.

I told her in an amused tone that in all of my nearly 30 years of Surveying I had never been challenged in such a way and that her colleague was very keen and destined to go far. She grinned in a form of acceptance to my observation, the first human emotion I had recognised in that place. I was back on my normal form and teased that perhaps they should show me identification in case they were actually doing the place over to steal the rent monies. She grinned and laughed again and I left happily clutching a bunch of keys. As the door closed behind I could swear that I could hear the movement of bodies, tied, trussed and gagged being dragged through to an inner room and with the faint but unmistakable sound of coins and notes being poured into a very large canvas swag bag.