Worlds apart

It’s getting close to the time when Cowboy will be arriving in the UK for Christmas, so naturally there’s a bit of PVP starting to kick in. I am restless and irritable, and scrabbling about for ways to make the days go quicker. It’s harder to do that without uni or a job to take up the bulk of my time.

If I had my head in a sensible place, I’d be working on the businesses (mine, and Cowboy’s) behind the scenes: adjusting websites, planning updates, drafting letters etc. My head being in an insensible place, I tend to drink a lot of tea and faff about.

Yesterday I joined one of my oldest friends for her birthday celebrations. I drove from the Oxfordshire countryside back to Tooting (where I could park for free as I still have my resident’s permit), hopped on a bus to Clapham and wandered down Northcote Road. It was cold, but not bitter. I didn’t wear gloves or a hat and I was fine.

We went to the pottery painting cafe and had tea and cake while we dabbed paint on to the various pieces of crockery on offer. I had to resist the teapot with a capacity of an entire gallon. I went for a more demure one pint mug.

Painting

The mug features a rope around the bottom, three emblems of London (pictured), a black and white cow (inaccurate, because Cowboy doesn’t work with dairy cows, he works with beef cows, which are usually black Angus), a yellow horse (Sunshine) and a blue dog (Blue Dog).

I’ve never been artistically accomplished, and I’m hoping Cowboy will like it for the sentimental value and its generous tea capacity.

After our pottery escapades, we had a lovely dinner at The Breakfast Club (pie and mash, a side of mac and cheese, banoffee pie), and some drinks in the bar next door. On the way back to Tooting, I went past lovely shops and restaurants, and I wondered why I had left London. I drove back to the Oxfordshire countryside.

Cowboy messaged me from Montana, where he is taking some time out to see his family before he comes over here. All it said was: It hit -40 this morning.

That’s in Fahrenheit, but it happens to be exactly the same temperature in Celsius. Minus forty. Minus forty degrees. What alien ice planet is he on?? Hoth?

The only suitable response I could come up with was: No thanks. No minus forty for me. In his little hometown I expect the wind is whipping across the prairie, and there aren’t hundreds of lovely shops and restaurants to take refuge in.

I realise I have never been to the US when it’s been cold. It worries me more than a little. I will need to invest in a space suit. I mean, in a really good coat.

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