Maria named everything we owned. I’d have to see the objects again to recall their specific pet names, but the one that mattered to me was when she named my car Charlie.
I’d started learning to drive when I was 21 and looking for a job as a journalist. I thought it would give me an edge in job interviews (little realising that I’m just awkward and terrible in all sorts of interviews anyway). When I got a job as a journalist, I stopped the lessons. Which was all kinds of stupid. Continue reading “Charlie Was My Darling”
Dear Maria got up at 5am this morning, so she could get to work for 7. On a Saturday. That’s retail! I spent the afternoon with a plumber, getting our boiler fixed. Her work day done, at 4.30pm we met at Daunt Books in Belsize Park, to go and give Christmas presents to my auntie and cousin, and have a nice dinner.
At 4.35, I was ringing for an ambulance, as Maria had fallen awkwardly on a un-gritted path and bent her arm the wrong way. At 11.30pm, we finally left the hospital, after a Doctor had finally popped her arm back on. He was rather impressed with her, as her arm should have snapped but the Ulna had popped out instead, twisting around to the side, and then she’d taken half again the usual dose of morphine to go under. (Needless to say, she’s sleeping like a babe now, a fresh plaster cast adorning her.)
Anyway, this is merely to say – I won’t be doing a usual one-a-day post today. I thought this year was meant to be better than 2009?