Driven wild by tardiness

But it was even more masochistic on this particular occasion because we were waiting somewhat longer than usual to let the fun begin. And waiting. And waiting… For it’s a definite truth that if you’re going be doing the likes of burpees and press ups at stupid o’clock you need to get it over and done with sooner rather than later.

It’s the later bit that gets me. For one of my very many foibles is that I can’t stand being late. For anything. And I hate it even more if people you’re supposed to be meeting are late turning up. Because frankly, unless they’ve got a cast iron excuse such as being run over by a bus, or getting themselves arrested, I think it’s bloody rude if they can’t be bothered to turn up on time.

We've got a friend in America whom we love dearly but who drives me wild to the point of whirling dervish incandescence with his complete ambivalence to the sweeping hands of the clock face.

One time we went to his house at the agreed time in readiness for a trip to Boston to watch the Red Sox play at Fenway Park only to find he’d disappeared to go and get a hair cut. As if that wasn’t bad enough he’d then gone and stood in line in Dunkin’ Donuts to pick up coffee and yes, doughnuts, in case we got hungry or thirsty on the ride… Another time in New York we waited in temperatures below freezing to be picked up by him for a five-hour drive up to Cape Cod. We had no signal on our mobile phone so couldn’t even contact him. Not, as past experience has shown, that it would have made much difference anyway.

Almost two hours later, with frozen dewdrops quivering on the edge of our nostrils and feet like they’d just been picked up out of an Iceland freezer cabinet, he pitched up with a broad smile, a breezy "sorreee!!" and some convoluted story about a truck blocking the road and the cops taking their time to sort it out.

There was a time he was big corporate noise in some multi-national corporate conglomerate based in Manhattan and he spent his life travelling the world to attend meetings. But we reckon he only survived because his long-suffering but exceedingly excellent PA totally ran his life for him, to the extent that she’d literally manhandle him out of the office and tell him that today was Dubai and tomorrow was Dusseldorf.

Him aside, have you noticed how much you get meeting creep in the workplace? For how many occasions have you arrived in good time for 10am gathering to find that not everyone’s there? So while you wait a couple of folk wander off to go and make a cup of tea and have a natter by the vending machine, then while they’re doing so the people you’ve all been waiting for stroll in, casual as you like.

But by now, the two at the vending machine still aren’t back, so someone busily sets off to go and round them up, another steps out to take an urgent phone call (they’re always urgent aren’t they?), and yet another seizes the opportunity to "just go for a quick pee".

Then before you know it, it’s 10.15 and your whole day is in danger of turning all to cock. Especially if one of those in the meeting that has finally convened and got down to business about 20 minutes behind schedule is a pontificator and can’t keep to the point. For there’s always one isn’t there?

Mind you, there are occasions when it might be just about permissible to be fashionably late. For you don’t want to be the first one at a party do you, shuffling from foot to foot and making awkward small talk while the hostess is still upstairs drying her hair and putting on her slap?

And I confess I was late for my wedding. But that was only because I forgot my bouquet so a couple of horrified female guests ("You can’t possibly get married without a bunch of flowers!") legged it over the road to Marks & Spencer and barged through the Saturday morning checkout queue having grabbed a selection of artificial ones with which to tie the knot. As late arrival excuses go that perhaps takes some beating…