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I’ve been out for tapas twice this week plus an all-you-can eat Thai buffet. It’s all good because I really like tapas. It’s been a very sociable week. As well as a date night with the Solicitor I’ve seen Emma M and Emma K.
On Thursday after work I met a couple of friends and we went to watch a screening of the stage version of Fleabag, a one-woman show. It was great. On the drive home through the late dusk, late because the longest day of the year is approaching, I took a wrong turn and ended up unintentionally driving past the high school where I had my first job as a teaching assistant, aged 21/22. I worked at that school for a year. It was where I met my ex-husband. I have very happy memories of that job and that time in my life. Somehow, it was all 15 long years ago. Life and the world are almost unrecognisable now.
On Saturday (last night) I went out with Tom (the Solicitor) to El Gato Negro, a fancy tapas restaurant on King Street in town. His sister had bought him a voucher for his birthday. We had to book an early table because the place is so popular. Even at 4.45, every table was full and people inquiring at the door were being turned away. All of the food was very good. My favourite was the charcuterie board that came with honey to dip all of the goodies in. It was definitely a treat place. We decided to get the house wine to drink, the logic being that the night would probably not have been improved by ordering a £40 bottle of wine as opposed to a £26 bottle. Afterwards we started the Fred Dibnah jigsaw at Tom’s flat. I leant him the jigsaw because he likes puzzles and doing things with his hands stops him from being tempted to smoke (he’s very successfully giving up after a habit that lasted decades). The Isle of Wight Festival was on TV in the background while we separated the edge pieces from the ordinary ones. The heatwave and the storms have continued. The night was sticky and we were awoken by the thunder. The lightning illuminated the exposed brick walls of his bedroom. His flat is much classier than mine. He has an antique wardrobe and all-white bed sheets. This week his Mum erected some window boxes on his balcony so now there are flowers. I like plants but I’m not very good with them; the palm in my living room that I’ve had for five years seems to be dying and I’m hoping I can somehow bring it back to life.
Today was Fathers Day and Tom came to dinner to meet my family. As I’d met his family the other week, it was only fair because my Mother was desperate. Me and Smaug had bought my Dad a ‘The Who’ t-shirt and an accessory for his bike. (Smaug ordered the bike accessory, I had no idea what it was). My Dad did a BBQ that we ate under the gazebo because, even though the weather was mild, the rain had started again. Tom fit in effortlessly with everyone. He hadn’t been nervous at all but I had been. My family are blind to my dating history from the past couple of years and they were never really onboard with my previous choice of the Fireman so I wasn’t really sure how it would go. Tom talked to my Dad about their mutual supporting of Stockport County, and then there was a whole-family effort to finish the Guardian crossword. My Dad seemed very interested in Tom’s former life as an academic. Nobody chooses to acknowledge my former life as a cougar. But I couldn’t have asked for today to have been any better. And somehow, just like that, I’ve managed to find a boyfriend who is normal, who hasn’t yet run away. Maybe I’m not cursed after all. I’m still not calling it a relationship, it’s still a ‘thing’. There’s nothing complicated or risky or scary about a ‘thing’. A thing who has met my family and told me I’m invited to his parents’ ruby wedding party next weekend. I feel like Bridget Jones, attending the ruby wedding of the parents of a sexy lawyer.
The Solicitor took a day off work and we rode a train to Liverpool to extend the Bank Holiday Weekend. Again, the weather was flawless. We stopped in at an exhibition about Greek gods at the World museum. It was a paid exhibit so it was quieter that other parts of the museum; the children on their half-term holiday were all elsewhere looking at fish or dinosaur skeletons. We ate a packed lunch in a public garden opposite the museum. Manchester city centre doesn't really have anything nice like green spaces or a waterfront. At the docks, we got a coffee and sat in the sun looking at the river. The time went by and I didn't notice that two hours had past. Then we went to the Cavern and spent three hours drinking beer and watching live music. I hadn't been to the Cavern for a few years. There's a fee for entry now (£5 or £7.50 if you want to come and go all day) which makes sense. Inside, there was a family-friendly party atmosphere. Grandmas dancing. American and Japanese tourists taking photos and buying t-shirts. A little girl celebrating a 9th birthday. On the front stage, all day, every day, there is an interchangeable man with a guitar playing The Beatles. In the Cavern, it's always 1968. In a back room, a music festival was on with a local singer. This was fun, but not as fun as The Beatles room. I could have stayed for three more hours but we left to eat before catching the train back to Manchester. We were the oldest people in the Nando's. I was fuelled with beer and excitement and The Beatles so I did not care. There's something reassuring and comforting about being in a chain restaurant when you're in an unfamiliar city. And, unless you're a vegan, who doesn't like chicken? The Solicitor ate his chicken with the hottest sauce. It was dark when I got home. The end of a perfect day.
It's been sunny. Friday was the last day of term. I stayed at the Solicitor's and he made home-made pizza. I'd expected to arrive to find him covered in flour and his flat looking like the Donbas but everything was under control. The next day, Saturday, we walked from the city centre, down the canal, to Salford Quays. Bank Holiday Weekend with the sun out - it was like being abroad. People sunbathing and rollerblading. Pop-up bars selling craft beer and coffee and Aperol spritz. On Sunday, Stockport County were playing at Wembley in the League 2 play-off final. The Solicitor went but my Dad didn't, he said that the last three times he had been to see County at Wembley, they'd lost. Today, County lost. Instead my Dad was putting on a BBQ. I was about to set off to get my meat but my car wouldn't start. Urgh. My brother came over to pick me up. Smaug has been absent a bit recently, not at that many Sunday dinners. Mother thought he might have a girlfriend but he doesn't, he's taken up hiking. The other week, he was climbing Ben Nevis. I think hiking is a good hobby for Smaug. A dragon belongs on a mountain. I'm sleeping in my parents' spare room tonight. I hope the only thing wrong with my car is just a flat bettery.
Friday 19 May The Solicitor came to stay in the evening and I went all out on the date night dinner: I made a prawn and watercress risotto followed by a mango Eaton mess. I'm not usually a boastful person but the food was flipping good. Afterwards we watched Paddington 2 because he'd never seen it (he'd only seen Paddington 1) and I said I thought it was Hugh Grant's finest film. When we went to bed, I lit the bum candle my brother had bought me for my birthday because I'd intended to light it for the Coronation: a special occasion. In lieu of of the Coronation lighting, going to bed with the Solicitor seemed like an equally grand and special occasion to me.
Saturday 20 May After a breakfast of scrambled eggs, the Solicitor left to watch a Stockport County match. It was a lovely sunny day but I spent all day indoors, thoroughly cleaning my flat. My flat is always clean and tidy but I keep up the routine of doing 'big cleans' because I'm house proud, even though I know it takes me at least half a day to do it properly. And I didn't do it last weekend so I had to do it or risk descending into slovenliness. In the evening I picked up Emily and we went to Stockport Plaza (the old Art Deco theatre) to watch a screening of Blade Runner. Blade Runner is a timelessly stylish and exciting film. The old man volunteer in the suit and tails on the door kept calling me 'Penny Lane' because I was wearing a jumper that said 'Penny Lane' like The Beatles' song. He'd laughed when he searched my bag and saw that it was filled with brioche buns, the in-show snack the Solicitor had given me.
Sunday 21 May A day in which every waking hour was maximised. I got up early and had a bath, then breakfast watching an episode of Simon Sharma's History Of Now. Before I left the flat, I'd also washed and hung out some clothes. I caught the train into Manchester city centre because I'd signed up to take part in the Our Future Health survey programme. All adults in the UK have been invited to participate (or will be) and the website for the programme describes it as thus: Our Future Health aims to be the UK’s largest ever health research programme. It is designed to help people live healthier lives for longer through the discovery and testing of more effective approaches to prevention, earlier detection, and treatment of diseases. Despite advances in healthcare and medicine, large numbers of people in the UK still spend many years of their later life in poor health because of common diseases and health conditions such as cancer, Alzheimer’s, heart disease, arthritis, diabetes and stroke. Our Future Health will help health researchers to tackle this growing burden of disease. With our data, they will be able to develop new ways to detect diseases at an earlier stage, and even prevent them from occurring in the first place. The survey involved filling out a lengthy online questionnaire followed by an in-person appointment (mine was inside a Boots store) where the following checks were done: Height Weight Waist circumference Blood pressure Two vials of blood drawn Cholesterol (finger prick test). The nurse said that my cholesterol reading was 'unusual' and that she'd noticed since doing the survey that this was common in people who took Levothyroxine. It was a slow scramble to get from the station to Market Street because the Great Manchester Run was taking place and the city was heaving with thousands of runners and spectators. (I couldn't get the bus because the roads into the city were closed for the run.) The weather reached 20ºC. I wore a green jumpsuit, which two strangers commented on, and I bought a pair of emergency sunglasses from Accessorize, just cheap ones because I only ever lose or break them, like I do with umbrellas. I met the Solicitor again at 1:30 after my check-up. We'd booked a table for a luxury lunch at Dishoom, a curry house with an impeccable reputation. I'd been looking forward to going for ages because Dishoom was the location of my cancelled birthday plans from last year, where one by one all of my friends dropped out and afterwards I felt thoroughly depressed. The restaurant today didn't disappoint. Despite the sunshine and the summer holiday vibe in the city, the place was buzzing. The décor was impressive and tasteful, the atmosphere was vibrant, the staff were friendly, the beer was cold and the food was excellent. I would highly recommend the House Chaat and the Prawn Koliwada. Even the garlic naan was superb. The company probably helped too. The Solicitor is the smartest, funniest and wittiest person I have ever met. (Plus he has a handsome face and nice arms.) He'd bought me a gift: a fridge magnet with the Stockport Pyramid on it. I thought it was brilliant. We stopped off at the main stage of the Manchester Jazz festival on the way back to his apartment (I would say his home is definitely and apartment and not a flat). We sat in the late afternoon sun listening to the live music, drinking beer, eating chocolate brownies and people watching for a couple of hours. I felt like I was on holiday, like I and everybody in Tony Wilson Place didn't have a care in the world. When I finally caught the last train home, wearing the Solicitor's hoodie because the night was slightly chilly by 10:38pm, I wondered if anybody could tell that I'd just spent the last couple of hours in bed, not alone. If anyone noticed I looked flushed, they'd just think it was because of the sun.
Friday night I went to stay with the Solicitor at his flat in town. I had to get the bus because there was a train strike. He made a curry and we shared a bottle of wine. I fell asleep on his settee while he was doing the washing up. When I woke up it was midnight and he was sitting at the other end of the settee, drinking a whiskey and listening to a low-fi indie playlist on Radio 6 Music. I have a vague memory from two in the morning, waking up naked in his bed as he was sitting up, also naked, listening to a podcast about the six wives of Henry VIII (Number 4, Anne of Cleves) and eating a peanut butter and jam sandwich. I think this might trump my habit of eating crisps in bed.
Yesterday (Saturday) saw the warmest and sunniest day of the year so far. There was still a train strike so I rode the bus home in the mid afternoon. I'd intended to leave the Solicitor's place about two hours before I actually did but I'm in a thing and it's a good thing, so it was long after midday before I had a shower and got dressed. The air was mild. People were dressed for summer. For the first time in 2023 I wore a t-shirt with no jacket. The flowering trees of the city are all extra luscious this year (for some reason that I assume is sinister rather than natural) the blooms of the rhododendrons and horse chestnuts are abundant and vivid and heavy. When I got back to the flat, Two Cars was out in his deckchair next to his front door, sunglasses on. After a flying visit to chuck some more stuff in my overnight bag, I drove to Stockport to pick up my Dad. We had a chippy tea then got in my car to travel to North Wales for a special edition of the pub quiz. I was a bit gutted to be missing Eurovision, which this year was being hosted in Liverpool, but I'd been looking forward to the quiz. I'd asked my brother if he wanted to come but, in his new sociable and active guise, he was away hiking in Scotland with friends. The Solicitor would have come with us to the quiz too but he was out with his Dad, watching Stockport County away at Salford City in the first leg of the League 2 playoffs. So me and my Dad were a team of two. My Dad spent most of the time during the quiz looking at his phone, checking for match updates. Our team name in the quiz was 'Stockport County Are Better Than Wrexham'. Stockport didn't win. This time at the quiz, my Dad only drank six pints, mainly pilsner which was only 3.8%. I had six bottles of San Miguel 0%. We came second (!) and we won a bottle of Prosecco to take away. The journey time to and from Wales was increased by the partial closure of the M62 where there was a detour around Runcorn/Widnes. We arrived home just after midnight and I slept like a baby in the guestroom. I was awoken at 8 by Mother knocking on the door with a cup of tea.
I was supposed to clean my flat today but I spent most of the day asleep on my own settee. I feel worse after this, delirious and groggy. I'm wondering if I should temporarily employ a cleaner while I'm too tired to do my own housework. I'm not sure what the going hourly rate is now for a cleaner. I'm annoyed that I only managed to do a small clean, not a full clean. I'm wondering whether I have the energy to wash my own hair later. I wish I was better. Life is good at the moment but I'm too tired and non-functional to fully enjoy it.
The past couple of days I’ve remembered to wear a bra to work but last night I fell asleep during the online pub quiz. Everyone on the Zoom could see that I was asleep. I logged off after the final question, not waiting to hear the answers, and retired to bed. I slept right through to my alarm this morning which ripped me from an unpleasant dream about getting on the wrong bus.
A few days ago, on 5 May, the World Health Organisation stopped referring to Covid-19 as a global health emergency, although the WHO still classifies the virus as a pandemic. I’m still suffering from the after effects of Covid-19. Having Covid last summer triggered my thyroid disorder to get out of control and it’s not been back under control since.
More backdated updates about my love life to come when I am awake.
A sign of how tired and non-functional I am at the moment: it wasn’t until I got home at 6:20pm that I realised I hadn’t worn a bra to work. It was a mild day so there were points where I’d taken my cardigan off. 🤦♀️
It was the Friday night of the May Day Bank Holiday. The Solicitor came to stay and we had dinner at the new tapas restaurant in my neighbourhood. It didn't matter that I've had more authentic and exciting tapas elsewhere because the wine was good and I was in good company. The restaurant was busy and the food was perfectly nice and adequate. And it was five minutes' walk from my flat. The next morning my flat was visited by a woman from the lettings agency for my annual property inspection. The Solicitor was chatty and charming with her. For the first time, I referred to him as my 'boyfriend' because it seemed more straightforward than saying: 'This is T and we're in a thing.' For the first time, the flat smelled of proper coffee because now I own a cafetiére . When this was done, we drove to Cheshire for a Bank Holiday walk in the woods around Quarry Bank. It was the right season for bluebells. I made a packed lunch and we ate it on a quiet bench overlooking the mill. The Solicitor laughed that I'd brought 'grown-up crisps' rather than Frazzles or Wotsits or Pom Bears: supermarket Finest crinkle-cut chilli jam flavour. (Truly excellent crisps.) There were also small plastic containers filled with strawberries and good tomatoes. And cheese and ham sandwiches.
Later he left to go to a wedding reception and I slept.
I'd arranged to meet the Solicitor again on Friday night and he messaged to say he'd booked theatre tickets - what a treat! Cat on a Hot Tin Roof was showing at the Royal Exchange in the city centre. It was a bit of a scramble to get home from work, get changed then get the train into Manchester for an early dinner. We ate at a Wagamama. Wagamama is a good pre-theatre option for food. The canteen style dining means the service is fast and unfussy and I like the food. I ordered mackerel and he had a Pad Thai. We clinked a cheers with bottles of Asahi. Before we left he went to the bathroom and I sat looking out of the window at the Paulownia trees in bloom in St Peter's Square on the spring evening and I thought: I am happy. I'm in a Thing, I'm out on a date. This is good. I liked the show. I didn't even mind that it was long (it finished at about 10:45pm) and I think I had a microsleep at some point during the second half (I'm exhausted from work and being ill). Afterwards we walked back across town through the night air to his apartment.
The next day, he was going to watch a football match and I was meeting my Dad after the same match for a special pub quiz at my Dad's men's club in Stockport. As I drove through the throngs of fans in blue and white scarves leaving the ground, I hopefully looked for the Solicitor but I didn't see him. It made me smile to think he was there, somewhere.
My Dad brought home fish and chips. I'd had to admit to my Mum that I'd been dating someone because one of my Mum's friends had seen me the night before in Manchester, arm in arm with a man. I'd been outed. As predicted, my Mother became overexcited. My Dad just approved that the Solicitor was a County fan.
At the quiz, me and my Dad came third. My Dad was not happy about this because the first two teams won a cash prize. There was hotpot at half time. The hotpot was good. One of my old school friends, who works as a local Labour councillor, was serving behind the bar so all of my gins were upgraded to doubles. The quiz master, who was drinking pint after pint of bitter, kept saying "sorry ladies" whenever there was a question about sport. It was a thoroughly classic evening. All the way home, my Dad grumbled that we didn't win any money. Apparently, we should have got a fiver but the quiz master gave our prize away to the wrong team after too many bitters.
I’m slowly trying to update with backdated happenings. I’m very busy, both socially and at work. At work, my assistant left in April for a promoted role at another school and she hasn’t been replaced yet, although we have finally advertised for her job. Socially, I’m getting out and about a lot, which I’m loving. Romantically, the Solicitor and myself are very much a Thing. But at the same time, I’m unwell again. I’ve been tested for all sorts of things: ECG, chest x-ray, FIT test, blood tests for all and sundry. Everything is normal, but my thyroid hormones have become unbalanced again. A GP called me in the first week of term to tell me that my THS level was 42 (safe range 0.4 - 4). My medication has been increased again. Since being on the increased dose, I’ve felt even worse. I’m exhausted. I feel spaced out and dull witted all of the time. Sometimes in the evenings on a work night, I find I’ve been sitting in silence, staring at a wall for up to two hours, not realising I’m doing it, or I fall asleep on the settee after eating my tea. I normally love reading but now when I open a book, I look at the words on a page and I don’t see them. I find it hard to write or type too. The worst symptom is that I’ve been bleeding intermittently for four weeks. This has left me drained. I’m ravenously hungry all of the time. I’m coping with all this by watching documentaries on BBC4, eating biscuits and having as much sex as possible. For the first time in six months, I’ve put on a little bit of weight, about 5 pounds (this is the only good thing). I just want to get better. But if going back to hiding under a rock for months on end is the way to recover, I don’t really want to do it. I could try again to cut out the little coffee and booze I drink, but I don’t want to give up the social and joyful things. I’m lucky to have a lot of people in my life who care about me and support me emotionally (if only I had servants and a carer at home to cook and do my housework and maybe blow dry my hair). I feel like I did the time after my first Covid vaccine where I slid down a wall at the vaccine centre, a local Masonic Hall. Bear with me while I try to get back up.
