I went to sleep on Sunday night in my Rossi's arms, snug and safe. We've both had bad weeks. His gran is dying, my Aunt Ellen is dying. There is comfort in the small circumference of a partner's embrace.
Sunday itself had passed well enough. I did a bit in the garden, was forced into doing nothing but sit still when Ross arrived (which was probably good for me), cooked food before we settled down to watch A Life Less Ordinary and ogle Ewan McGregor before bed.
Monday was healing and Margaret very pleased with my improvement since the last session. She tells me that I now have a very open heart. Having gotten rid of a lot of baggage, I now feel that I have to start wondering about where I am going to move on to. However, Gill reminded me that I would have to spend a little while working out what it was like just to live without the millstones around my neck.
Tuesday night I phoned young Phillipe in his new domicile and he sounds pleased as punch to be independent again. I also spoke with Lowestoft Colin. I must get to see them both some time.
It was also the last programme in the Queer as Folk series. Well, for me, it sort of petered out. The first couple of episodes where completely in your face. Totally unbelievable but good fun - like a rollicking, good 18th century novel. And I liked the way the Stuart character was a completely egotistical monster. Later episodes which tried to get you to understand and like him where a complete let down. Still I'll watch the second series, when it's made.
Wednesday I had a drink with a colleague, Simon, from the History department. It is entirely possible that he knows Henryk, who was a College chum of mine and may be able to put us back in contact with each other. Small world.
I got home to find that Roland's dad had died. My heart goes out to him. But it's also a relief. I'll maybe get to see him when I go to Merseyside come Bank Holiday weekend.
Thursday brought the Pinochet decision and he still may get extradited to Spain. Yes!
And it was the 10th anniversary of Hillsborough. It was a sunny spring afternoon. A Saturday, of course. I was on Church Street, shopping. All the street stalls had transistor radios playing to keep track of the match. As I passed one I heard, "And we're getting reports of deaths". I know it's wrong but my first thought was, Well, this is the payback for Heysel.
You could see the shopping crowds thinning as people went home to check on family members. You could see the grim faces on the people remaining. The sunshine had gone out of the day. Everyone knew someone there or had a family member there. My cousin, Joe, and his son, Paul, were there.
Friday passed quickly and an early bed sent me to sleep again in my Rossi's arms bringing the week full circle.