The late Ruby Jones.

I once lived for 5 days 2 hours out of time.
Instead of putting the clock forward an hour, I put it back an hour.
It was surprisingly easy not to notice anything wrong.
I lived by myself, had a job with loose hours, no-one cared
what time you got in, as long as the work was done.
And in those days working till late was something everybody did.

My boyfriend was in the same business, and was working
on a pitch, so not seeing each other was pretty standard.
We agreed to meet up the following week.

I suppose, thinking back I thought the buses were
less cramped but seriously, that was about that.

I had to go to Paris for work that weekend, and of course
turned up 2 hours late for my flight. There was confusion and
embarrassment at check in when I finally realised my mistake,
but I congratulated myself on having got away
without any great disasters that week, and I managed to
get myself on a later flight.

I was walking through to my plane, and glanced through to the
Departure lounge of another flight through the glass.

My boyfriend was there, holding hands with another woman.
I stood there staring, my heart felt like a huge hot stone.
It felt like the heaviest thing on the planet, I couldn't feel
anything but this fucking thing in my chest.

He obviously thought I'd be on my flight by then.
He didn't see me.

I cried all the way to Paris.

But then was met by the photographer I was working with
that weekend, who looked like Donald Sutherland in Klute
(sexy, sexy bastard).

Paris. Hot man. No guilt.






Thanks ever so to the benevolent person who helped me yesterday.