ON STOLEN TIME

Sometimes when I'm driving between appointments I think back to that day in 2006. It couldn't have been as sunny as I remember. The hills couldn't have been as green. The fields couldn't have been as vibrant a shade of yellow. I couldn't have seen the tiny insects that seem to be magically suspended in the warm air in my memory.
It was my first job, and I'd been sent to a morning meeting in Bristol. 'See you at 1,' my manger had said as she slipped me the keys to the hire car. 'There's a briefing when you get back, there'll be a buffet lunch'. It was a larger car than I had ever driven and I relished the power at my disposal. The meeting finished early, and I found myself with an hour to spare.
What makes the stolen hour so valuable to us? I like to compare it now to the free coffee I get when I fill up my loyalty card. The taste is richer, the moment lasts longer. And if I drop the free coffee, the loss is greater despite having not paid for it. Perhaps because we don't pay for the stolen hour, it is the most valuable of all.
There is a rare beauty to the Cotswolds on a sunny day when the light haze adds a new dimension to the landscape. I choose a random left turn, driving away from the sun. To my right the fields open out to a view that momentarily blurs and becomes a Rothko painting, the fine blue of the sky merging with the faded green of the sunlit grass in a thin line of confident green trees.
Through Coates, creamy Cotswold stone walls defining perfectly manicured gardens as if prepared solely for my passing. A tractor, hay bale forks held high above the ground, waiting for me to pass. A stall by the road selling eggs and flowers, but I would not think of stopping.
Then down into Sapperton, past a pub that I imagine would be perfect for Sunday lunch. I've never been in a pub like that and I make a mental note of the location; I will never go back. Now, I'm rising quickly up a narrow road, steeply dropping down to the left with no protection from the drop. The trees crowd the road blocking the light, forming a natural tunnel of green and brown. In my mirror the sun flickers through the spaces between the leaves. It is cooler now and the scents are stronger as the air becomes slightly moist.
Reentry into the bright light is sudden, and I am momentarily dazzled by the strength of the midday. I make out a tractor coming towards me and I brake heavily, clumsily navigating the car into a small strip of dirt by the side of the road. The tractor slows and virtually comes to a stop as it passes me. The driver is young, younger than I, and he smiles in a way that creates a distance between us. I look down my grey trousers, my black shoes, my tie. On the passenger seat lies my document wallet, a present from my girlfriend when I started work.
I realised it was time to go back to the office.