This June, however, my family dispatched me to Center Parcs instead.
But each of us prefers to sleep with two pillows instead of one, so my wife dispatched me to the closet.
Much too long ago, The New York Post dispatched me to Asbury Park, where the Jersey Shore Bullets Brooklyn-bredd star, Fly Williams, in a halftime promotion, was to wrestle a very large bear.
In the spring of 2013, a couple of days after the death of Margaret Thatcher, the Guardian dispatched me to the post-industrial south Wales town of Merthyr Tydfil, to talk to people about the legacy of her time in power.
As a restaurant professional, Mr. Szeps was also armed with tips, and he dispatched me to the Marché des Enfants Rouges, 10 minutes away in the northern Marais, where local traders have been selling fruits and vegetables since the 18th century.
Having deigned to ask my name, the editor at one magazine then dispatched me to fetch her lunch (a joyless fat-free repast which I placed meekly on her desk, my mind seething with invective).
Perhaps to get rid of me for a while, my editor dispatched me on a research mission: to go to a bookstore, survey the covers of other literary nonfiction books, and report back to her about which ones I liked, and why.
When, in 1997, Guardian editor Alan Rusbridger dispatched me across the road with instructions to redirect their efforts to building an online version of the Guardian itself, the team wore the despondent look of a bunch of German soldiers who had just been sent to the Eastern Front.
My editor, knowing my deep admiration for all things saccharine and flimsy, dispatched me to this orgy of the ephemeral at the last minute.
