February 11th, 1989

February 11th, 1989

At home

Spent a lot of time today on the phone:

Pamsy – Surprisingly, she has the entire weekend off and begged me to go down for the night. She tried tempting me with the promise of a night out at TJ’s and a drive to the beach tomorrow.

“You know I’d love nothing more, but I can’t. I’m going to the airport tomorrow morning to meet Ben.”

“Is he flying into Gatwick?”

“Yes, he is.”

“If you come here you’ll be closer to the airport. You can jump on the train in the morning. I’ll drop you off at the station, doesn’t matter how early.”

“Sorry, but I’ve already made arrangements to go with his mum and dad.”

I hated how disappointed she sounded.

Nana – Sounded excited because she’s definitely coming for Easter. Hopefully I’ll be home for at least some of her visit. I really miss her.

Jon – “McGarr! If you’re bored I’ll come over and take you out for lunch. Or dinner. Or a drink. Or we can go to the cinema. Or go out for a drink.”

“You already said drink.”

“We can have more than one,” he laughed.

“Sorry, I can’t. I have a lot of stuff to do today but thank you.”

“Fair enough. I’ll give you a ring through the week after I talk to Matt about the car he’s selling. I think you might like it.”

“I appreciate you doing that, thanks. It’s time I got some wheels.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me anything about the car?” he asked.

“Nope.”

Stephen – As usual, he had plenty of Air Europe gossip and had me in stitches.

“Are there any dishy guys on your course?”

“A few, but I think they’re all hetty’s.”

He laughed heartily, “Considering you’re training to be an international trolley dolly, I highly doubt that.”

Ben – Phone rang incessantly first thing this morning and I ignored it. Then a minute after it stopped, it started again and I thought I better answer (mum and dad were out) in case it was an emergency.

I dashed down the stairs and tripped over the scatter rug mum just bought. On my way to meet the floor, I whacked the side of my face on one of the phone table’s sturdy legs and swore.

Just as I was getting up off the floor, the phone stopped ringing. I was so furious I picked up the receiver, and screamed into it, “arrrrrggghhhghhh.” Then I slammed it down and plopped myself into the phone chair.

A few minutes later, the phone rang again. I was still in a foul mood and was tempted not to answer it but my curiosity got the better of me.

“Hello?”

“Finally,” said Ben.

“Did you just ring?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’ve been phoning you for bloody ages. Just want to make sure you’re still coming to meet me tomorrow?”

“Of course I’m coming to meet you. I can’t wait. Your mum and dad are picking me up at eight in the morning. Your dad said it’ll take us about two hours to get to Gatwick.”

“Yeah, shouldn’t be much traffic that early on a Sunday morning.”

I yawned. “Sorry.”

“Did you have a late night?”

“I did, actually.” I tried to stifle another yawn, with no success.

“Are you there?” he asked, sounding impatient.

“Yes, I’m here, sorry about that. A few of us went out after class. We had drinks in Covent Garden and dinner in Notting Hill.” I refrained from adding, “and more drinks.”

“What for?” he asked.

“It was Meryl’s twenty-first birthday. She’s a lovely Scottish girl I’ve become friends with. We went to a place called Tuttons in Covent Garden. We should go, you’d love it.”

“Who went?”

“I just told you, a few people from my group.”

“Girls and guys?”

“Yeah, half and half.”

“What are the guys like?”

“Really nice. Good fun. Carl and Vince walked me to the tube because it was late and I had to leg it to catch the last train home.”

“You weren’t kidding when you said it was a late night.” His tone was disapproving and I figured it was time to change the subject. “What are you up to tonight?” I asked.

“Not much. I need to finish packing and I’ll probably have an early night.”

“But it’s your last night in Italy. No going away party?” I asked.

“Nah, early night for me.”

I hate to say it, but I don’t believe him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s