home visits

So I went home over the weekend. Well, that is to say I went to visit my parents. Odd phrase, that. “I went home”. I’m 27, I rent a room and I live day to day with my girlfriend. My home is London now, no doubt about it. But back with my parents.. that’s, I suppose always home to everyone.

Sorry, tangent. There are an awful lot of dogs there. It’s like dog-a-rama. And they’re mostly huge. 2 borzois (6 months old and already they’re bigger than Chloe, the whippet) and Ed the Enormous Alsatian. German Shepard. I don’t know, what’s the preferred nomenclature? Anyway, most of the time you’re drowning in dog, but it’s always good to see the folks, even if it was only quite a short time. Very short. Watched I, Robot at the Kinema, which is always fun even if the film is a bit shite.

Oh, yeah, it was my last day at work yesterday. I got a card signed by everyone, and a present and a collection of cash and lunch bought for me and it was lovely and everyone was very sweet. I’ve never really had that in a long-term job – either it was like Unipart and we were all leaving or it was OnDigital and I just flaked the fuck out of it and didn’t come back. So that was actually quite touching.

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