Rainy October days in 2015 drove Londoners into gloomy old houses. The sky was overcast, the streets were dull and grey, and the air was thick and smelled of wet earth. The bustling Londoners and visitors seemed to carry an almost tangible sense of the approaching darkness and cold. The clatter of footsteps echoed sharply off the cobblestones, and leaves wandered through the narrow alleys and clung to the legs of passers-by as if seeking refuge. A cat lay on the windowsill, watching fluffy sparrows gather under the roofs. With a pulled-up jacket revealing the dazzling white of his freshly washed shirt and a Boris-like hairstyle, Boris entered the office at City Hall.
He had just returned from a long but exciting trip to Japan.
A long-legged journalist in a black suit slept on the office couch, while Petronella Wyatt, a Spectator columnist, sprawled in the armchairs. From the office next door, there was the sound of "zzh-zzh-zhzh!"
Boris looked questioningly at Baron Greenhalgh.
"Your wife, Wheeler is vacuuming," he whispered. “Yesterday, she ordered the latest Dyson vacuum and had it brought to the office."
Boris nodded empathetically and entered the working office.
"Boris!" exclaimed Richard Barnes, a deputy, joyfully, "Pfeffer! Finally! How was the trip? Have you enjoyed in the south-east? How are things on the international front?"
"Well, you know, Japan is a bit tight," Boris replied with a smirk, "I told you not to let journalists into the office!"
"Boris, this is Petronella, she knows you inside out and said she'll write everything about you if necessary."
"Don't call me Pfeffer... I have a first name… well, a second."
"How was your trip? Tell me about the little island. Hope you were not straitlaced over there. Were you fed with crabs, Fugu? Oh, they had such a strong Fugu, as I remember. One evening my wife and I 'crushed' a bottle there - excellent sake. In the morning, we started learning how to cook Fugu. Our eyes just popped out - I have nearly died from tetrodotoxin. How exciting that was! By the way, the next day the porter said it was a shrimp, not a Fugu.”
"Nonsense," said Boris sadly, glancing through the door. Petronella bothered him a lot. "Shinto, the way, Confucius, some goals. I should have sent you there. You're always cheerful, and rosy, hugging everyone easily. Besides, you love sake and Fugu."
"Boris, all the newspapers have already trumpeted about your rugby game! Petronella is particularly interested in that," exclaimed Richard in a thunderous voice, theatrically putting one foot forward and laughing.
Boris just rolled his eyes, and Richard closed the door.
"Listen, Pfeffer," he approached Boris, "why are you so sensitive? Pushed a boy a bit, big deal. Rugby is a tough game, when you get into a rage, you don't notice who's in front of you, a boy, or a healthy bull. You don't care... I've already told them about it. Besides, the Japanese are polite and silent. They didn't complain or make any claims, and the parents were satisfied. So, forget about it."
"No, it's different here... after rugby, we went to the school cafe. I ordered a steak, and was sure the Japanese had no idea about steak."
"And then?"
"The girls in the kitchen cooked an excellent steak! A huge piece! So juicy! When they started serving the table, I was touched. And I went to hug and kiss those girls. I liked the smell of the steak very much!"
"And then?"
"And then! When I returned to my table, the local teacher was finishing my steak!"
"Impossible!"
"That's right! I tackled her, as a real rugby player! I was upset!"
"Unbelievable! What a tragedy! Just think about it!"
"In short... we somehow said goodbye to them. But there was a kind of unpleasant aftertaste... uncomfortable."
"I can imagine!"
"Late evening in the hotel, I nervously took off my jacket and threw it on the bed... And then my huge juicy steak fell out of the pocket..."