A catch-up in my life...
Many laughs over Donut's last comment, who was desperate to know what's happened to me in the last couple of months whilst I've forgotten about this blog. And reading back over it, I do realise that I left anyone who comes across this blog on a bit of a cliff-hanger.
However, as is often the case in life, the hopes for the future don't turn out as we would have had them.
However, in the next couple of posts I write I will try and get you all up to speed on what's happened to me in the last six months or so. Before I start, many pardons if I write it in a slightly novelistic way, I've decided that I have too little time to write my much vaunted novel, so I'm using this little blog as the only outlet for my (considerable - of course!) artistic talents.
...
I started living in the little house on a hill, on the top floor across from Carly. I didn't sleep with Carly until much later - but we were already good friends when we moved in. We'd gone on a couple of day trips. One to Cambridge (a place I'd never been before, but was spectacularly beautiful - old buildings that loom into the sky carring on their turrets, it seemed, the weight of history). We were there to meet one of Carly's old friends - she went to Cambridge University to do her English degree. Her old friend was a don (I believe they call them) who had taught her.
Looking back, I definitely remember feeling a little bit awkward - a bit like the poorer cousing in the environment. The Don (she was a Professor - and I'll continue with my avoidance of real names by calling her Professor Darling), made us Dinner in her 'rooms' which was a suite overlooking King's College. Professor Darling is a tall blonde woman, with glasses perched on her nose and a slightly sixties way of dressing. We ate an elaborate salad with hazel nuts and rocket (amongst other things), and talked about English literature. I could pretty much hold my own - I think, but constantly I got the impression that I wasn't quite up to standard. I can only suppose it was my own paranoia.
The rest of Cambridge was nice, however - and was probably the first time that I'd even considered Carly romantically. Perhaps not - perhaps I'd thought of it before, but only in a general, nebulous way. We slept on the floor of her friend, and she was sleeping only a few yards away from me. We talked - as you do in these situations, as though slipping into a sleeping bag immediately regresses you to the age at which you invited friends over to camp in the garden - and she was open and - I don't know. I nearly rolled over as the night passed on and put my arm round her. I didn't - I don't know why. I suppose there was some - foreboding is too strong a word - but some doubt. Quite clearly now, it is a doubt that has been vindicated.
I'm out of time now - and I've got about a day into my catch-up of what's happened in the six months (well done, Wanderer!) At this rate I'm going to have the same problem as Tristram Shandy - too much life to write about in too little time.
Will post again soon.
However, as is often the case in life, the hopes for the future don't turn out as we would have had them.
However, in the next couple of posts I write I will try and get you all up to speed on what's happened to me in the last six months or so. Before I start, many pardons if I write it in a slightly novelistic way, I've decided that I have too little time to write my much vaunted novel, so I'm using this little blog as the only outlet for my (considerable - of course!) artistic talents.
...
I started living in the little house on a hill, on the top floor across from Carly. I didn't sleep with Carly until much later - but we were already good friends when we moved in. We'd gone on a couple of day trips. One to Cambridge (a place I'd never been before, but was spectacularly beautiful - old buildings that loom into the sky carring on their turrets, it seemed, the weight of history). We were there to meet one of Carly's old friends - she went to Cambridge University to do her English degree. Her old friend was a don (I believe they call them) who had taught her.
Looking back, I definitely remember feeling a little bit awkward - a bit like the poorer cousing in the environment. The Don (she was a Professor - and I'll continue with my avoidance of real names by calling her Professor Darling), made us Dinner in her 'rooms' which was a suite overlooking King's College. Professor Darling is a tall blonde woman, with glasses perched on her nose and a slightly sixties way of dressing. We ate an elaborate salad with hazel nuts and rocket (amongst other things), and talked about English literature. I could pretty much hold my own - I think, but constantly I got the impression that I wasn't quite up to standard. I can only suppose it was my own paranoia.
The rest of Cambridge was nice, however - and was probably the first time that I'd even considered Carly romantically. Perhaps not - perhaps I'd thought of it before, but only in a general, nebulous way. We slept on the floor of her friend, and she was sleeping only a few yards away from me. We talked - as you do in these situations, as though slipping into a sleeping bag immediately regresses you to the age at which you invited friends over to camp in the garden - and she was open and - I don't know. I nearly rolled over as the night passed on and put my arm round her. I didn't - I don't know why. I suppose there was some - foreboding is too strong a word - but some doubt. Quite clearly now, it is a doubt that has been vindicated.
I'm out of time now - and I've got about a day into my catch-up of what's happened in the six months (well done, Wanderer!) At this rate I'm going to have the same problem as Tristram Shandy - too much life to write about in too little time.
Will post again soon.
posted by The Wandering Novelist at 10:37 AM
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