Biscuits are a subject close to my heart. In fact, now I think about it, I mentioned a biscuit quote from a book yesterday. Anyway, someone I work with got back from holiday yesterday and brought some really nice biscuits for us. Where we work, there are various people nearby who we don’t necessarily know but they use the same facilities/ meeting rooms etc. They kind of camp out at some spare desks. One of those people, walked past and helped himself to the biscuits, as he went into the meeting room near where we sit. I glanced at him and he said “oh… I thought they were for everyone…” and I just said he was cheeky. He did think about putting the biscuit back, but I said he’d better eat it. But come on, surely you can’t help yourself to other people’s biscuits. If they’re left over from a work meeting, fair enough, but when they’re obviously from someone’s holiday, surely they can’t be deemed to be for everyone? Surely you can’t just help yourself. As it turned out, he hadn’t booked the meeting room and got kicked out of it a few minutes later, which I felt to be poetic justice.
G stayed over on Sunday night and just as we are falling asleep said to me “This is a bit of a morbid though to end the day on but I guess one of the advantages of being single is that you’ll never wake up in the morning to find someone dead in bed next to you. It is a risk when you’re in a relationship”. Yes… that’s true… we did talk about this for a few minutes and then we both fell asleep – and both made it through the night alive. Last night I quizzed G about this a bit more in case it was an indication of a) a desire to be single or b) a plan to murder me during the night. Apparently it was neither, but G seemed a little uncertain as to whether it would be preferable to be single or for me to dead – I’m not sure why it was always me who seemed to be the deceased in the conversation – and G said “well I’d get over it in the end, whichever it was” to which I explained that in the circumstances for me I thought being single would be preferable, as my death seemed somewhat difficult to come back from. G eventually conceded the point. I think.
The London church named after a French Saint
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