Woody's lectures are going to be just round the corner from work. Well, until we move to Moss Side, that is. If we move to Moss Side. He gave me a call as he was walking past my building, and I went to the window to wave at him as we talked. Do I want to go for a pint, he asked? Yes please.
We caught up. His course. My ill-fated cycling excursion. My course. His bar job. Films we'd seen. Music we'd listened to.
Clare joined us, and Ollie, in the BP, and we headed to Didsbury. Clare and I had pasta and pesto. She wept as she told me about work. I felt useless as I watched, offering advice that wasn't very insightful. My work doesn't make me cry, I thought, at least there's strength there. She apologised, poor love. Is there anything I can do to help, I wondered. Yes. Be a better friend.
Kumbi was in O'Neill's with Steve, Craig and the other Fordbankers. She's not working because of problems with her permit. Will they throw her out, and back to Zimbabwe? Poor love.
No comments:
Post a Comment