Back to work
I exchanged messages with Stubby.
Did you miss me? Let’s do lunch!
You’re back already?! I can’t - am meeting my mum for lunch
That’s a “No” to the first question, then.
She wandered over to see how the holiday had gone and to apologise for not being able to do lunch.
“You could come along, but you mightn’t find the conversation too interesting.”
“It might send the wrong signal, too, what with your introducing me to a parent. It’d only encourage me.”
“True - and my mum would leap to the same conclusion.” Stubby mimed an excited parent (quite convincingly, too).
“Really? Hmmmm.”
I declined, politely and have booked a lunch in her diary for next week. The next thing I knew Shazza was asking what I was doing for lunch.
Yes, I’m a tart.
Later in the day Tall Andy was asking whether I’d seen his comment. We discussed this as if it had been a text exchange (in case FtG started looking for my blog). In spite of the “gayness” of the Copen, Tall Andy was all too happy to accept the offer of a lift home. As we left Ganglion Square car park we spotted FtG walking home, so I pulled in.
“We’re not gay!”, Tall Andy shouted. Oh dear. I didn’t hang around to find out whether his yell had penetrated her earphones.
In spite of this I gave him a lift home and popped in to spend some time with Kitten, Happy Jack and Sam. There were bubbles and there was Tall Andy spilling hot drinks - note the plural - and generally being a disaster area. Dear me.