I went to the village pub this evening with my new neighbour, her friend Di, and the two dogs. Nice people, perfectly good conversation, handsome dogs, a pint of Marston’s Pedigree Ale... What could be better?
The problem is that my consciousness remains filled with the Big P. Everything else pales to the periphery. The walk home alone was welcome, because she becomes more real when I’m alone. ‘Me. I’m all that matters,’ she says through eyes that sparkle and seduce. Only the words don’t rise to her own mouth; I put them there.