I wanted to write about Hetal today. A brief summary of recent happenings and an observation or two about the contact we'd had since May however I didn't have the chance to ask her first and didn't think it appropriate to write too much without her blessing. I guessed today she might have taken a walk and given some thought to what her and her brother might do or eat over Christmas. Her family didn't celebrate the occasion in any big way.
Was I looking forward to the twenty-fifth? Not really. I liked the cuisine. And the Queen's speech. Also, my sister and her husband sometimes watched Mrs. Brown's Boys although it wouldn't be shown until 10pm on Christmas Day. By that time, if all went to plan, I'd be back in East Dulwich.
Naomi, my ex-housemate was back in the country. Her plane had touched down earlier in the day and I'd be seeing her at Mark and Lisa's wedding on the 27th. We were already messaging about how late I'd stay. For the food at least. Mark's speech would be good too. Probably. I loved his trademark straight-faced humour. In fact they were both really funny.
My landlord was under the weather, the poor thing. She still made some polite conversation when we met in the kitchen. She informed me that she'd be serving chicken liver on Boxing Day. I told her that I didn't think I liked liver. "You don't think you like liver", she repeated back to me, as if to confirm that I'd phrased my response as oddly as I had. Of course, I knew pretty damn well that I didn't like liver but adding "I don't think" was supposed to soften the message.
A couple of friends who I messaged a lot this year were having really hard times. One was helping to care for a sick relative and the other had been beaten up by a family member. I thought about being a kid and how generally speaking, as long as I got what I wanted in terms of presents, I was happy. It seemed really strange now. As if someone could get me a present that could make or break Christmas. Was it wrong to let children adopt that mentality? Maybe I could discuss it at the dinner table in a day and a half's time.
Was I looking forward to the twenty-fifth? Not really. I liked the cuisine. And the Queen's speech. Also, my sister and her husband sometimes watched Mrs. Brown's Boys although it wouldn't be shown until 10pm on Christmas Day. By that time, if all went to plan, I'd be back in East Dulwich.
Naomi, my ex-housemate was back in the country. Her plane had touched down earlier in the day and I'd be seeing her at Mark and Lisa's wedding on the 27th. We were already messaging about how late I'd stay. For the food at least. Mark's speech would be good too. Probably. I loved his trademark straight-faced humour. In fact they were both really funny.
My landlord was under the weather, the poor thing. She still made some polite conversation when we met in the kitchen. She informed me that she'd be serving chicken liver on Boxing Day. I told her that I didn't think I liked liver. "You don't think you like liver", she repeated back to me, as if to confirm that I'd phrased my response as oddly as I had. Of course, I knew pretty damn well that I didn't like liver but adding "I don't think" was supposed to soften the message.
A couple of friends who I messaged a lot this year were having really hard times. One was helping to care for a sick relative and the other had been beaten up by a family member. I thought about being a kid and how generally speaking, as long as I got what I wanted in terms of presents, I was happy. It seemed really strange now. As if someone could get me a present that could make or break Christmas. Was it wrong to let children adopt that mentality? Maybe I could discuss it at the dinner table in a day and a half's time.
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