Well, I felt rough on Saturday morning. I thought it was probably the
red wine but I'm not so sure. There's been some bugs around at work
and the headachy feeling, nausea, aching limbs and slight temperature
are all in keeping with low level flu. Mind you, I'm perfectly prepared
to believe that it's all psychosomatic.
In the afternoon, I went off to Linda's for a couple of hours. It was good to see her and Ian and Helen. And I picked up a computer that they are getting rid of which will go to mum and dad's next weekend when I go visiting them for mum's birthday.
The driving was fine apart from torrential rain on way home - a real monsoon.
Ross rang at about 7pm from Victoria Tube and I went off to collect him. I was still feeling slightly rough so we ate together and had an early night listening to Orwell's 1984 in the dark.
Sunday was a lazy morning. After a late breakfast, I went off to Quakers. Following meeting, there was a brief interment of the ashes of one of the meeting's members. It was quiet and dignified. One of the elder members then took me by the hand and insisted that I borrow the book by Michel Quoist which contains the poem that I quoted a couple of postings ago. And I've been invited to a Quaker men's weekend at the back end of September.
During the afternoon, Ross and I shopped at Tesco's and then sorted out the change around in the upstairs rooms so that front room will become the spare bedroom/study and the back room will become the main bedroom. I was still out of sorts by the time evening came round, so we had another early night with Edgar Allan Poe, sleeping this time in the back room.
I wanted to make the change because the noises in the street sometimes wake me early. Of course, I hadn't reckoned with the yapping of next door's dog waking me at 5:30am. What it was doing out at the hour I really don't know.
So, today has been a lazy day for me. I've taken it off work because I still
feel out of sorts and achy. And Ross and I have more or less sorted things out.
I'm going to keep the wardrobe, chest of drawers and settee here and he's
going to arrange for everything else to be carted back to his parents. It's
called a tactical accommodation.
We seem to have mostly managed to do this without acrimony or undue emotion. The only bad moment so far was when Ross discovered that Cyril the cat had vented his displeasure over the strange boxes accumulating and the sense of change in the air by pissing copiously over Ross's CDs. Some of them have been ruined and that includes some Madonna singles which may be irreplaceable.
Now, I know that Ross dearly wanted to round on me and say that he'd told me not to do any packing to which I would have said that he should have come and moved things earlier. But we didn't have that row. Instead, Ross is not speaking to Cyril and Cyril is studiously ignoring Ross. I'm sure he knows that Ross is moving out permanently and is very cross.