Its good to talk

In times of stress, turmoil, celebration, or uncertainty we always gravitate toward our little centre of the universe: Take5 on Tombland, opposite the Cathedral.

And so it was that this afternoon we went there after our conversation with the woman at the bank. It went okay. We are not about to have our house reposessed; all was considered good in that there are no arrears, the house is worth more than is owed on the mortgage, no consumer debt, just a fucking iceberg on the horizon because we don't bring in enough each month to meet our essential outgoings. We were not offered expensive 'products'; just an extension of my overdraft which, if we manage to chug along as we are, will ensure that the wolf that is on the doorstep does not get inside the house and we will review the situation again in a year.

As I began weeping with relief when we came out of the bank, Rol gently took us both to Take5 - that haven of safety and peace - where we had garlic bread with cheese and two chilled beers. And conversations with lovely chums Becky, Ellie and David about 'life and shit'.

Ellie's boyfriend is looking into doing a further painting degree in Leipzig; Ellie is thinking about nursing but is a bit concerned about her children.

'And how old are your children, Ellie?' I asked, surprised.
'Oh. about minus 5. I thought you knew I didn't have kids yet?' Exactly ....

Becky thinks about £40k would do nicely to enable her to set up a teashop-cum-deli and David is newly in love. So much so that he has just had his lady love's initials tattooed on his left pec. There's not much space left on his torso, actually.

I feel nackered. Singing this evening then I am going to do sod all that I 'should' do this weekend. I have got tomorrow off work, I am up to date with the job applications and Occupy Norwich doesn't need my input into this weekend's circular discussions.

A little time for me, I think.