Hodgepodge

Gugs rocked up this morning (does that term work for ‘coming out of her bedroom’?) in a summery ensemble that she thought looked like a clown suit. I reassured her otherwise, that in Cambridge she’d blend in with anything ticking the hippie / bohemian / wholesome / colourful box. The conversation reminded me of one homecoming from Africa when I was on the final leg and at the bus station in Stoke-on-Trent. I had the nerve to be in flip flops as it was summer and I’d come from the tropics. It caused quite the stir and a cascade of whispering gossip amongst the elderly bus riders waiting alongside me. Perhaps young men in flip flops was a bit too racy for Stoke in the 2000s.

Today I was also to be found in shorts, hopeful as ever about the weather even though the supposed warmth of the day didn’t penetrate inside to where we were working. Due to the shambolic proposal I’m working on, I didn’t break free from the house until 9pm, when the evening temperatures were nice but I missed the glorious sunshine. It gave me the flavour of Cambridge in the summertime, with youngsters charging around and booming out music from speakers on their bikes after an evening hanging out on the green. Apparently A Change Is Gonna Come is the tune of the moment, perhaps signalling the boredom of lockdown.

Someone today described my predicament of being in someone else’s house whilst not being able to get back to where I am based, as a ‘hodgepodge.’ It felt very accurate.

Look at this cat, circling the bathroom as I sat on the toilet. I’ve noticed the cats show more affection when I’m in the bathroom compared to any other room. I don’t know what treats they expect me to have up my sleeve whilst in there or whether they think humans are vulnerable and therefore a soft touch whilst performing their ablutions. There will be some wily method to the madness.