‘Second portable cabin on the left after the Mint Lounge. Door will be open.’
Folding the offer letter back into my pocket I paused for a moment as the grim reality of the situation hit me like the distinctive aromas stinging my nostrils as I made my approach along the Birmingham Road. I cursed my ignorance. Despite the club finding a temporary home in the north of the county, I had naively expected to remain based in Worcester which suited my loathe of commuting. As it is, I now face a daily 29 mile round trip to a plastic shed in Bromsgrove and I’m starting to doubt whether my request for an antique mahogany desk at the interview was taken seriously.