Consciously at least, nothing was planned in my mind. Last night thought the subject of boyfriends and girlfriends came up – Clare is quitting her PE job to move up to Aberdeen and be with her Allan. This coupled with a previous, suppmat-avoiding email conversation about how she avoided paying up a match.com subscription when she met him (again) at a wedding, I found myself comfortable in telling her about Emma. Later, last night, I wrote up the events of both Saturday and Sunday, and because I mentioned meeting up with Clare on Sunday, I decided it would make a nice balance to it with mention of meeting Emma on Saturday.
I guess subconsiously I knew what I was doing. I’ve long known that my journal has become ‘cult’ reading – just why I’m nto sure – in Blackwell. Indeed for a while it was so much a cult that it was websensed. I should have not therefore been surprised, when at lunch I was asked who Emma was.
The expression on their faces as I said simply, with a smile on my face, she’s my girlfriend was priceless, and their expressions of surprise (and possibly bewilderment) is something I will remember for a while. Of course what followed was an hour of questing to the third degree, which as an odd mixture of both awkwardness and enjoyability.
Later on at the restaurant, when quizzed if I had any pictures I did reveal, if eventually, a few on my new camera. By the end of the evening I found myself reflecting that in some kind of weird, unplanned way the chances and circumstances of my lif had come toegether in unison with my creative side to provide the perfect season cliffhanger episode.
After seven years one of the favourite and perennial characters finally gets the girl. How can the writers end it there?