We're all pretending to be grown up and having a dinner party. As EQ points out, student food (shepherds pie and peas) slopped onto plates is only a dinner party by virtue of the fact that we're all in black tie. I've even got my hair up, braids pinned at the nape of my neck.
He looks so good, stubble and a dinner jacket. After Big Ben chimes we're on the sofa, talking. We talk more when we get home, in bed, my head on his shoulder. I am not good at this, this talking, but fuelled by cheap fizz I do my best.
He looks impossibly better the next morning, dress shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbows and pyjama bottoms. We make breakfast for welcome guests and spend the day asleep.
Happy New Year. Thank you for reading.