Monday, December 10, 2012

Post script to Customer Service

It isn’t that I object to talking to people I don’t know – I’ve had many a happy chat with people in shops and on public transport. I just don’t like a stranger – like the guy in Chatsworth Farm Shop, or the dental assistant (when I went for my last check-up) – saying to me out of left field and with no pre-amble, “What are you doing this afternoon/tonight?” It throws me, and it feels intrusive.

That’s enough of all that. I had a lovely non-grumpy weekend which included baby-sitting Gil for the evening. (If he was reading this I’d have to call it “big-boy sitting.”) Bliss is sitting by a warm fire listening to cheesy Christmas music, knitting my fair-isle hoodie, with Gil in his fireman’s dressing gown drawing beautiful pictures of trains.

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And in the morning, going with him and his parents for a bacon sarnie and a cuppa at a quirky, sun-drenched 60’s caff with a jukebox and formica topped tables.

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