So, Let Me Tell You About My Weekend

Saturday started well. I met my students in Stamford for a cup of coffee. They wanted to say goodbye to me. It was fantastic. We drank and chatted even while the rain poured down and the other coffee shop patrons ran for shelter. We, instead, opened up umbrellas and stayed at our table.

I then hopped onto a train to Doncaster. I sat next to a dark skinned man who smelled like lemon sherbert and who dozed quietly as we sped through the countryside.

Sharon, my new lover, met me at the station and we enjoyed a lovely afternoon and evening together: a drive to Cleethorpes and then on to a pub that had a view of the Humber Bridge. And we talked. We laughed. It felt amazingly good.

I opened myself to each memory as it was made and I can still feel the wind whipping through my hair as we sped across the motorway in Sharon's sporty little car with the roof down.

Sunday was gloriously lazy. Sharon drove me back to Stamford and we had dinner. I took her on a piss-poor tour of the town and we finished up in The George and enjoyed some tea in the company of a ginger cat named Harry. (Harry was named after the hotel gardener and not Prince Harry as we had supposed.)

I am happy.