One dozen

Twelve years ago I had just rocked up in Cambridge and moved to a room a few streets away from where I am now lodged awaiting the end of this pandemic situation. I was paying 260 quid per month as I injected a diabetic cat, Misty, with insulin each morning, in exchange for cheap rent. Now in return for Heidi’s kind agreement that we can use her house whilst we’re stuck, we are feeding her two cats.

Funny how life can take us in quite tight circles. I hope they’re not ever-decreasing and that I’ll be able to roam and rove freely in the near future.

It’s been a week of feeling quite morose at times, even though the rational part of my brain wants me to snap out of it. Gugs and I have decided that these are standard ebbs and flows that come from our limbo situation, and I’m happy for her that she might be able to escape to Kenya at some point in August.

Getting out in the evening and drinking cider on the grass with good eggs consisting of ex-colleague Sue and extant colleague Dan was a good antidote to the moroseness. A suitable way to ring in a dozen years of service with the same organisation.