Chronic Punctuality

Pull up a pew... It's not cool. It's not sexy. I am just chronically on time. Sometimes, even, heaven forbid, early...

I can't explain why, but I have always been super punctual. Writing this, I realise it's probably something to do with my Mum, who takes an interesting view of being 'on time'. Whilst never abjectly late, her view of being punctual includes pulling up in the train station car park at 1:31, when the Exeter - London GWR Express leaves at 1:33.

Is she late? Well, no, but everything is extremely stressful. Can't count the number of times I've been desperately paying for parking while she throws the bags out of the car, before we both run into the station.

Worse still... airports. Nothing more embarrassing than hearing:

"Can passengers C and C LAMB please make their way to gate 32. The plane is ready to depart"

"This is a second passenger announcement for Miss Chloe and Caroline Lamb"

Admittedly, these announcements seem to be a bit of a thing of the past. Maybe airports don't do that anymore.

Or, I just travel less with my Mum now.

Correlation may equal causation here perhaps.

If you make it to the gate in time (which, on occasion, we didn't) the walk of shame (worse than any one night stand) up that aisle is pure hell. Eye rolls and disgruntled coughs aplenty.

Some might even see it as a form of sport - how fine can one actually cut it without being left with a crying child at the gate, as the plane (with our bags) is taxiing onto the runway?

Anyway, the point is, I found travelling as a child faintly stressful. This trauma (dramatic? Me? Never!) has informed my timekeeping as an adult. It could have gone either way - I could have become terribly tardy (it's giving 'fashionable', 'chic', 'busy'), but instead I became chronically punctual (it's giving 'available', 'loser' and 'probably drives a Honda Jazz' ).

It frustrates my friends no end... exhibit A:

'Did I get that wrong'..

Yes. You did. Act like a normal 25 year old. 7 doesn't mean 7! It means at earliest 7:15, expected ETA 7:30.

I have even been too punctual for dates before, arriving 15 minutes early. Nothing less sexy than a punctual woman, but, in my defence, there were no delays on the Piccadilly line that evening, and I found Green Park station much easier to navigate than usual. I thought:

God. Better have a fag to pass the time.

Had said fag.

10 minutes to go.

Fuck. Guess I'll have another fag.

It's finally time to enter the pub. He's been there all along, watching me smoke through the window. That date was doomed from the start.

He was a Navy man. I tried to impress him with my military jargon: 'redders', 'jackwet', 'pussers', and crucially, 'sitrep'.

A week into our budding romance (HA), I asked for a 'sitrep' (situational report) about how his night-out had been. He proceeds to give me said sitrep about our relationship (if you can even call it that) and decides he doesn't have the feelings he expected to, and would like to be friends, and, I quote, he "hopes there are no hard feelings".

There were hard feelings and he still has my favourite pair of socks.

Anyway, never be punctual for a date is the moral of that story.

I will struggle when it comes to my wedding day (hilarious assumption that I'll find someone who can actually tolerate me, especially considering the previous anecdote). Brides, as we know, are notoriously, and expectedly late.

Wedding will be at 2. I, at 1:55 will be sitting in the car outside the Church, using physical force against my bridesmaids as they restrain me. "Fashionably late, fashionably late" they'll chant. They'll insist on 2:15.

We'll compromise.

At 2:03, I will walk down the aisle. Headstrong and defying societal norms, in the least attractive way possible.

Anyway, enough rambling, and I've just seen my watch and realised I must leave now if I'm to get to the pub on time.