Metamorphosis. 

8 Jul

Ugh. I spent an evening at home, cocooned in my duvet when I should have been out having dinner with friends, simply because I’ve been feeling utterly rotten all day. 

Just a low level “seeing anyone today will just make everybody miserable”, which is ideal for social gatherings. 

And particularly perfect as I’m going to Exeter with a gentleman companion tomorrow so we can go and see Crosby and Parry doing their solo Edinburgh previews. I’m very excited, as I saw them last in May, but that was fleeting. This will be a test not only of whether the gentleman companion shares my sense of humour, but also if he can withstand the questioning that those two will no doubt deliver. I already know they’ve been trying to snoop, albeit fairly unsuccessfully. SECRETS AREN’T SECRETS MATTHEW CROSBY. 

I just hope to God that the train strike won’t scupper us any more than it already has. Because it has. And my brain can’t handle it. 

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