Me: (Thinks 'It's 112.5 degrees on the horizontal plane, approximately 845mm from ground level when approaching from a due south direction'. With completed 3 dimensional image in my head, angles, pitch, approach, everything, I could programme a drone to target this from the next county just by memory). Hang on, this is DP.
'It's on your left'
DP: ????
Me: On your left. The other one. The other other one. No, not turning to face me, stay where you were and look to your left. Your LEFT. The one you write with. NOT THE RIGHT. Stay still. That means don't do a 90 widdershins. Oh, for God's sake, stay still and face the window. The kitchen window. The one you're standing at. Look out of the window. Lift up your fretting hand and put it on the top of the dishwasher. Now creep it like Thing towards the window. 10cm. No, not the windowsill. Not, not the hob which is on your right and six foot away. GO BACK TO THE SINK AND FACE THE KITCHEN WINDOW. Do the Thing hand.
<deep breath>Stop when your hand hits the bloody great box of washing powder with FAIRY written in big, friendly letters over the front. Got it? <oh, for fuck's sake> STAND STILL.
<takes hand, rejecting the right that was pushed towards me and gently guide him back to facing the bloody window instead of spinning round like a disco dancing Springer at Crufts>
OK, your left hand. Your fretting hand, GIVE ME YOUR FRETTING HAND NOT THE PLECTRUM HAND, look forward OUT OF THE WINDOW...here we are <THUD> the bloody great box of washing powder.
There you go. Easy, eh?
He tried taking me in exactly the opposite direction at the weekend when he was holding the phone with the map and the little blue light that shows what way you're facing. AND there was a tube station with the name directly across the road that he was ignoring both in reality and on the map. Let's just say a look of Doom meant I was handed the phone pretty sharpish to check my internal suspicion that he was going in exactly the wrong direction.