January 6th 2017 – home

Wednesday started off rather disconcertingly. I was walking to work and passed a young couple in their late teens / early twenties loitering outside the pizza/fried chicken place next to the now defunct District 41 nightclub. I could see them eyeing me so I whipped out my earbuds and as I passed, the girl said “not so bossy now, are you, bitch?” I ignored her and continued down the street towards my workplace but my heart was pounding and I really wanted to run. Even after I safely reached the building, my hands were shaking. The only explanation I can think of for her outburst is that she had mistaken me for someone else. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve confronted her and asked who on earth she thought I was but in reality, I was too frightened – there were two of them after all and there are some weird sorts in our town.

Upon my return home, I found that Mum had dropped off my old collection of Beatrix Potter books which had been given to me by Gran and Grandad when I was six. The Christmas card is even still in the box, addressed ‘to a very good reader’ with my Gran’s inexplicable but inevitable speechmarks around the declaration. The books are in mint condition and I’m pleased that Mum talked me out of gifting them to my sister’s 2-year-old twin daughters.

Mr P, Mr P Sr. and I went out to watch the football which resulted in Spurs beating Chelsea 2-0 which was unexpected and brilliant. We bumped into the Irish-American guy, Rob, who we met in there just after Christmas. I can’t decide whether he’s just friendly and eager to make acquaintances in a new village or whether my innate mistrust of new people is skewing my opinion and making him seem a bit weird. He alluded to some past mental health problems and I think he might have had a rough divorce but we did find out that he’s a fellow Spurs fan so maybe he’s not that bad after all.

Matt had to leave work early yesterday because he was hungover and started spinning out. Finally, he admits that this is down to too much booze but he is a grumpy sod when he’s ill which pisses me off and puts me in a bad mood to match. He seemed to perk up after a nap and a Chinese takeaway though and at least he knows that his ‘illness’ is self-inflicted. I’m pretty sure I’d be more sympathetic if he was genuinely under the weather.

No signs of my street tormentors yesterday morning although I was extra vigilant and kept my earbuds out whilst walking to work.

We were talking about babies in the common room at work today. The Brat said she was waiting for me to have kids. This puts me back up but, in the light of my New Year resolutions, I kept my calm and simply said “how do you know I’m not?”, smiled enigmatically and swished out of the room. That should keep her guessing.

 

 

 

 

 

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