Saturday, August 06, 2005

I've had a lovely week. Alright, so the first week after Pay Day is always by far the nicest in the month because you don't have to hold your breath every time you use your debit card, but it's been especially nice.

Nothing remarkable has happened really. But I did get a really nice comment from a benevolent stranger out of the blue the other day ( I thought even my mates had given up on reading about the banalities of my life and only ever took a dip in when they were worried they may have upset me and thus at the mercy of my ascerbic wit) and then this morning one of my clients, one of the rare kind that you really warm to despite having been asked endless questions about things that you really didn't need to study Land Law for years at college to answer, rang. She claims I'm her hero and she apsires to be more like me. She clearly hasn't met me nor does she realise that I spend most evenings from about 8.05pm ( approximate time it takes to get home, kick off my shoes and run upstairs ripping open bills and discarding offers of yet more credit cards) in my pyjamas reading books, currently mainly about single thirty-something girls, alone with just my cat for company and the occasional conversation with Jack focused mainly on his hunger and my unreasonableness at not fetching him a chicken kebab at 10.45pm ( an advantage of the sleepy hollow that I have just left was that it was far enough away from food outlets to not even be a consideration for junk food).

Tonight I am giving my sofa a night off and instead heading for South Yorkshire to see Mrs Roger's new matrimonial home and sit on her sofa. I had intended to go visit sooner but that was before I knew she was going off to Singapore on holiday. Not that I actually did ever find out that she was going on holiday. I thought it a bit odd that she hadn't returned a couple of phone calls but just thought she must be wildily busy with house renovations and being all wifely ( especially now that she is a proper housewife with no job or anything). I'm not complaining, well not really. I am quite busy with working in the pub for the time being and I suppose it's not like I'm ever totally on my own, after all, I've got Jack who still occasionally comes home to sleep and request a lift and even holds a conversation every now and then, usually just before he mentions that he needs some new rugby boots/jeans/jacket/motorbike etc.

But only 18 months or so ago, Mrs Roger was The Most Single Person that I knew ( and about the only other non-couple member in my close circle) and constantly bewailed how other more fortunate halves of a couple would let her down, cancel plans, fail to make arrangements and generally not realise how lonely it could feel when you spend all weekend on your own. She's been over twice since Christmas, for about an hour each time. Maybe she's just anxious not to catch Singlitis again having been so recently cured by a dose of Twobecomone applied topically, orally and quite possibly as a pessary morning noon and night for the foreseeable future.


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