I know I have been a bit quiet lately. Sometimes I get annoyed with myself when I find myself writing, I did this and then I did that posts as if I was 16 and this was my journal. It also becomes difficult when you want to write about something but it doesn’t feel right because of the eyeballs that see this. I often wish I had an anonymous blog to blab whatever I want- but that smacks of onanism. (That’s a fancy way of saying jerking off.)

Friday night Stuart was due to came back from a few days in Madrid for work. He said that he would be home about 11. I went to the pub with work mates and it was a fun evening except for the two times I was trapped speaking to a couple of people who think a conversation is someone else listening to them drone on. I left at 10 so I would be home when Stuart arrived. The first sign that the evening held bad things in store was my oyster (tube pass) going missing from my pocket. What sucks is I had just bought my weekly fare that morning. Kiss £27.50 by-by.

I got home and waited for Stuart. And waited. And waited. He wasn’t answering his phone. Finally at 1 he called and asked me to meet him outside. That he had a gift for me.

I was. . . angry. . .

1. He was two hours late
2. He was drunk
3. He wasn’t dead as an excuse- although I would be killing him soon.

I went downstairs and there he was holding a traffic cone with a flashing light on top.

“Thomas Cole! I’ve brought you a gift!”

“You’ve brought me a traffic cone with a flashing light on top.”

“A bollard Thomas. I’ve brought you a bollard.”

“Why did you bring me a bollard Stuart.”

“Because it’s a gift! Come here so I can take a picture of you next to it.”

It was at this point I think that I hissed that he was fucking insane and what would the neighbours think and what if he caused an accident with the flashing light traffic cone, sorry I mean bollard, going missing and did he see what time it was and where the flying fuck had he been? I turned and went back inside.

I heard him follow me and go into the living room.

I steamed.

After a few minutes I went downstairs and he was passed out on the sofa. I decided to leave him there.

I really needed to just get away for the weekend. I would find a cheap Ryan air flight somewhere, anywhere and get the hell out of dodge for a few days.

I opened up our little mini safe where we keep our passports and pulled mine and–

Stuart’s passport was there too.

But Stuart had just come back from Madrid. His passport should be with him.

I got his mobile, and flicked through his text messages.

You know what I am going to say next. It’s the oldest story in the book.

I’m not sure what I am going to do. I’ve been staying the last few days with a friend. I don’t know if I am going to go back to America. Do I talk to work to see if they will sponsor me? Do I stick it out until November, get my visa and then leave him. . . I don’t know.

It’s kinda crap timing being April Fools Day and all.

Yes. . . April Fools Day!

Did I get you?

The entire story above is a lie. Well, except for the part where I went to the pub and lost my oyster.

And Stuart going to Madrid- yes, he really did go. . . I think.

And the part where he stole a traffic cone with a flashing light and told me it was my gift and made me take a picture next to it. That really did happen, but it was a few weeks ago.

If you walk down our street, you will see it outside our flat.

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