A catch-up in my life...
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.