Sighting [Don Mace]

Sunday. The Doña and Doniño, on a rare visit to Cambridge, are taking me for an (OMG-it's-) early morning stroll. Because babies don't get hangovers. "Bowl!" "Mo bowl!" He absolutely lurves churchbells. I've rarely been more of an atheist.

Not far in front of us, Delphine, on a rare visit to Cambridge, emerges from a college not her own.

Ah.

I don't make introductions. No, I just watch her by; she grabs her bike and cycles off towards Bridge Street. When she disappears, I turn to my son and say "Breakfast time?"

And that's your Don. All the awkwardness, jealousy and poignancy of adultery, with none of the sex.

On that note, term's over again, and the Don is returning to domesticity. Adios. Hopefully Char will be back any minute.

Oh, wait, the end-of-term party...

It's 1 am the day before. For some reason my jacket is sporting a bunch of fake grapes, inserted into its breast pocket by a cute ex-blonde dressed as a Fate. The older husband of a European friend has just squeezed them, like they were a boob, and he a teenager. He's not the first. He is, however, the first to follow up by slipping his hand inside my jacket and rubbing my nipple. "It runs in the family", he says, by way of clarifying that this is, in fact, weird. Charmaine, I think I have some more friends for you.

Sightings [Don Mace]

Email contact from Char! And she promises stories. Yum.

(And about time, too, Ms X. I was on the verge of changing the blogname to something brand-faithful but slightly more accurate, like "Charmaine X: Doesn't live here any more. No forwarding address. Try: China", or "X Charmaine".)

In other rara avis news, I've learned that this blog has a reader! At the Other Place. Just in case this heralds a new era of cross-institutional popularity, I'll repeat this warning that I, Don Mace, am a semi-fictional writer of semi-fictions.

So, for example, if I write that last time I was at the Other Place, a lovely young woman took me to her room after a group formal to watch her "change her shoes", and later followed me up to mine to "help me fetch my whisky", and ended the evening by asking if I was going to "walk her home", that might look... ambiguous. But, it wasn't! And that's how it's done.

Finally in avis migrans news, Titania has disappeared again. Presumably it was something I said. Any of you drawing broad conclusions about the survival of friendships despite romantic tension should probably stop before you fall over. I know I'm going to try.

Update: no she didn't.

Oops, I did it again [Don Mace]

Can one apologise for treating someone badly without making them the bunny in the relationship? Just askin'.