One Night in Hell

As it turns out, I did drop by on the way south. I had other business to conduct in Rob's town, and stopped over a night on that account. I dropped in on Rob at the studios and he expressed his usual efferfescent enthusiasm and joy, inviting me to stay at his place that night.

The phone rang though, and after ignoring my presence for a cool 20 minutes or so, I interjected with as polite an expression of my desire not to stand around listening to his phone conversation, as I could muster. He fished out his keys and handed them over, motioning towards the door.

I had, while waiting spotted a short on the endless stream of shorts running on the array of televisions in the reception area, that piqued my interest. It was of a show called "The Risk Files". Clearly of possible pertinence to Rob's own proposal for a documentary on hitch-hiking, which might include a reasonable rundown on the risk of hitch-hiking within the context of the more mundane risks we run in every day life.

I motioned that I have one more question for him, knowing full well, if I don't raise it now neither of us will return to the subject of this file "The Risk Files" again.

He thrust paper and pen at me impatiently, gesturing I write a note. I'm hoping at this stage, that he's talking to the Prime Minister here, and fearing (from the audio cues before me) that it's just a lady friend, who can't hang on 30 seconds to clear a question. Given my last visit of course, I had an inkling as to how important this documentary, and subsequently my presence really were to Rob. Not important enough to interrupt a phone conversation for 30 seconds I'd just confirmed. I shouldn't have come ... "poor fool me", I thought.

I scribbled a question. He read it, his lips moving to some parallel conversation. He gave me a seconds air time, apologised to his phone partner, and said "I'll look into it" with a wink, before diving back into the world of his telephone relationships. I'd won 1 second anyhow, and took my cue to go.

On leaving Rob put his hand on the microphone and flattered me with a 2 second extension. "I'll be up in about an hour," he says and engages the phone once more.

His flat is on the same road. It

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