Last night I went to see Michael Nyman in concert at the Barbican. I met with some friends after for drinks and then dinner (1.30am at Balans in Soho) and we decided to carry on drinking, and before I knew it we were having breakfast at 7.30am.
(I decided to wait until tubes were running before going home given it was almost that time).
At around 9.30am I was at Kings Cross, and as I had a friend staying in Travelodge there, I decided to pop in to say hello. When I checked at reception there was no such reservation. So I pulled out my phone to call her...
Only to see a stream of missed calls - my mother 4 times, my brother, Xfe.
I phoned home (my parents are visiting for 2 weeks). All hell had broken loose...
My mother and father seeing I hadn't been home presumed I was now a missing person, probably dead. So, they had phoned the police to report me as a missing person. They had phoned my brother who was about to drop everything and head down to London. My brother had phoned my office to see whether I was due to be working (and if so whether I was there). In fact, I have today, tomorrow off.
My brother had also phoned Xfe, in Paris to tell him I was missing. He was fairly worried, sick with worry.
Xfe knows that on the odd occasion I go on a bender, and have stayed out until early morning, but it was the fact that my brother had called him that made him think something must be seriously wrong.
My mother had thought it was so unlike me. It probably is so unlike me, but how would she know? I left home about 20 years ago.
They just think London is a bad city.
Yes, I should have been more considerate, but on the other hand, isn't that the point of being grown-up, independent? This is after all my house, and how I live my life!
Tonight I am out again. If Xfe wasn't coming back I just might do the same thing to make that point clear.
My secretary, of course, thought this was hilarious (one of the mopping-up calls I had to make after).