The illicit joy of bunking off
Good things happen when you step outside the lines
Yesterday, well the day before by the time you read this, I bunked off. (I’m not sure if “bunking off” is a Britishism but, just in case it is, it translates as playing truant/hooky/ skiving/throwing a sickie.) The more I think about it – bunking off – the more it sounds like a poor euphemism for sex (as I’m told “the shift” is in Ireland 😂) but there was none of that, although that seems like a missed opportunity with hindsight.
It went something like this: I had swottily arranged all my work so I could take Tuesday out to go to a meeting in St Andrews in Fife, about an hour from where I live in Edinburgh. The location was incidental, chosen for convenience; being halfway between our respective homes and at the same time where both of our partners …