Tuesday is the new Sunday. Oh yes.
I spent the weekend in Bristol. Meeting AM in a bar after far too long an absence, we gossip and exclaim disbelief at how strange it is, how alien to be drinking in our university city. The attack of his warm, delighted hug is just as I remember.
As I stumbled from the train earlier in the afternoon, bleary from afternoon drinks in London, I text a friend; Just arrived. Feels like coming home.
Beautiful moments; emo kids perched like crows against the rounded wall of the building by the river; carrot cake and a stolen crossword; that extra hour on Sunday, and shy amazement at quite how wonderful some people can be.