HER SONG

Wonderful sociable evening at M's. All the suspects there, some irked that I was still off the sauce. 

Some schadenfreudenista Iagoi and Iagellas there who actually do not want me succeed; I could see it in their eyes. They'd've preferred ~

"Who on earth is that chap over there, weaving around and, frankly, being a bit of a bore. He drunk?"

Ah yes ... Chris ... sad story ... ever since his mother died ... gone to pieces ...

Not quite yet. Lord Copper.

The capteuse of my heart was there but, as usual, she was surrounded by the usual swain, or we sat with her on my deaf ear, or we had nothing new to say, having come too close to the sun. 

Towards the end, we got the seating right and touched without touching and she brushed my hand in the old accidental way, her endless legs - now in socks - playing discreet footsie.

We were going to leave together, our cars being next to each by pure coincidence, but she got into a huggy-weepy match in the kitchen with someone who didnt know the situation, so I left without her.

On getting home, I sent her an email of apologetic regret and put on 'our song' from when ... songs were 'Ours' and no-one existed and we couldn't wait.

It was still playing in the b/g when she called.

"And what is that music I can hear?" Her clipped German, music in itself. 

"I thought I'd wallow."