I am still having an affair of the heart.
This is something of a miracle. I keep waking up and staring suspiciously at myself in the mirror, trying to sniff out evidence of an alien abduction.
As yet there is none. The same old Robinson stares back at me in her faded M&S pants, an earplug half sticking out of her ear and hair like Aslan’s – which is fine if you’re a lion, less good if you’re a thirty year-old woman.
Since my last blog I have discovered that The Man
a) is an excellent cook
b) knows all sorts of shit about Anglo Saxons
c) loves dogs as much as I do.
There are many other things that I have discovered about The Man, all of them good. Hopefully by the time I discover the bad things I won’t much care.
But I feel weird saying too much about him on a personal level. I hope you understand. It’s a respect thing.
Anyway, it seems ridiculous and yet absolutely typical that I should meet such a fine specimen of manhood just before I throw my rucksack on my back and bum round South America for a year like a great big bum-faced guitar-playing BUM. I don’t know much about pursuing these things long distance, other than that it generally doesn’t work. But given that I cannot see into the future I will continue to (try) to take this thing one day at a time.
So. I am writing this blog on a plane between Patagonia and Buenos Aires sitting next to none other than Mrs Robinson! Yes, that is correct: Mrs Robinson my lovely Mum is in Arge visiting her itinerant first-born! So far so good; she’s been here only five days and as yet only one fight. We’ve been in Patagonia since she arrived (pictured) and she has been ace; getting involved with all sorts of hikes and late-night steaks and malbec sessions. I love my Mum. Needless to say she understands more Spanish than I do which is particularly shocking given the fact that she took an evening class once a week for eight weeks and I’ve been living here more than six months. WTF?!
It has been awesome to see her. I did shed a little tear on Christmas day after skyping Robinson Towers – everything was in the usual state of chaos; people shouting and swearing, presents still not wrapped at midday, lunch scheduled for 10pm and dogs and cats everywhere. I couldn’t help but miss them. Don’t get me wrong – I had a totally brilliant Christmas with The Man and my lovely friends but it’s not the same.
So it has been a thing of great awesomeness to have Mrs Robinson here in Arge. Not least because she brought TWININGS TEA, RYE BREAD (shut up – you have no idea how much I miss that shit) and – best of all – my CHRISTMAS STOCKING! Did you hear me? She brought my childhood Christmas Stocking! Full of lovely things like makeup that doesn’t go mouldy five months after you buy it and socks that don’t shrink in the wash like Walkers’ crisp packets in the oven (remember those, kids of the 80s?)
As me and Mummy sit on flight 2967 to BA I am wearing The Man’s fleece. (He lent me a load of mountain gear from the expedition he was embarking on when I met him.) Each item in the collection has a name tape sewn into it by the employers who sent him on this expedition. I have to confess that the sight of his name on a nametape does strange fond things to my tummy.
Arrrghhhh. Bugger it. I LIKE THE MAN, readers. Quite a bit. Sometimes I catch him looking at me with an unguarded face and I can see clear as day that it’s a two-way street.
WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN?
Back to the present please, Robinson. We’re going out for steak with my Mum tonight and then I’m shamelessly going off to his flat, abandoning Mrs Robinson in favour of a night of pash and a Serious Conversation About the Future. (SCAF.) I honestly don’t know what either of us will say. In fact I don’t know anything about anything any more.
What the feck is with the timing?? In one week I leave BA for good and he will go back to London! Bloody hell, friends. I can’t deny it, I am definitely in A Thing with The Man. The porter in my building calls The Man my boyfriend and my friends are sending me increasingly amazed emails using phrases such as “relationship” and “your man.”
I have yet to tag photos on Facebook however. One must draw a line somewhere.
I’ll update you with regard to our SCAF soon. In the meantime I have an urgent date with an empanada. Chau chau, as they say in these parts.