And particularly as someone recently mentioned how cunnngly guarded we are here at Casa Uborka, this seems like a good one to do; via Pix. It’s a bit of a stretch for the old memory cells, though.
Ten years ago I lived in Plymouth and worked for a company called Milk Marque. I was a few months away from getting married, and deeply involved in lots of lovely, lovely planning. We had found a really nice house with views of Plymouth Sound, but our moving date kept getting put back for random reasons like the vendor’s wife committing suicide by setting herself on fire.
Five years ago I lived in Worcester and worked for a chemical company that paid me an impressive amount of money to do very little; I found it boring but it hadn’t yet occurred to us to move to Hungary. I was a few months away from getting married, but certainly hadn’t started planning it by that point. Life was built on a solid foundation of routine, two cats, and a great deal of alcohol.
One year ago I had been living with Pete for three months, and was doing what I considered to be a dream job as an ISO 9000 consultant [yes I’m a bit strange]. Pete and I had just got back from a week in the Lake District; we had not had any serious conversations about getting married.
Yesterday was a busy day at work, now that I’m past my 60-day probation period with the factory monitoring company and my boss seems to trust me to get things done. Around this time, we had just put the phone down from our weekly conference call with the NJ and LA offices, during which the americans had been louder than usual, and I had only made two remarks about tea. I haven’t broken it to them yet that I’ve given up tea; how would they classify me, then?
Today I have the day off, but Pete wouldn’t let me enjoy my lie in and made me get up at the same time as him. I wasted the morning on the computer (but managed not to check my work email), then went out for lunch with a friend and former colleague (from the dream job). When I got back I cleaned the oven and slept off the glass of wine. Shame Wimbledon’s been rained off and it’s too drizzly to spend the evening outside a nice pub somewhere.
Next week I’m going to China.