I had a meeting in Lancaster this morning with a sculptor. The meeting was meant to be at 10.30am, but before I left, I had to print off a large drawing. The plotter was playing about, so I shifted the meeting back to 11.00am knowing that he and I had to be gone by noon. By the time the drawing was ready, I was running really late, so I bombed down the M6 to Lancaster, but got lost. I know, I thought, I'll phone and ask for directions. Nope...left my phone at home in my rush to get out. Hmmmmmm...I know, I'll ask in Waterstones. That's a good place to find arty-types who might know where this bloke lives. Sure enough, someone did, but they didn't know what number. I parked up and though I'll phone and ask which number it is. Oh...that's right, no phone. There was an Indian food shop opposite, perhaps they know him? Sure enough they did, because he lived right opposite. Knocked on the door, went inside, sat down, left the file at home.