Don’t thank me, thank the moon’s gravitational pull

Christine was managing the office relocation, an opportunity to take her mind off the break-up with Malcolm. Malcolm, however, was health and safety, and everything had to be approved by him.

She indicated with a polished fingernail the position of the new building but Malcolm moaned, shook his head and did nervy jazz hands. ‘You’ve forgotten something vital. The building’s relationship to where staff live.’

Christine explained about public transport.

‘I was wondering whether it’s east or west. I only ever work west of where I live, so that on the way to and from work the sun is never in my eyes.’

‘But you come to work on the tube.’

‘I have a strong sense of the planet. Even underground I know where I am in relation to the sun.’

She agreed to go with him to a cellar bar so he could demonstrate this skill, and it did explain something. The time he’d consulted a compass before making love, claiming the moon’s gravitational pull enhanced his performance, he’d been lying.

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