Disapproving woman disapproves

Either Donna has discovered this blog or I have a very keen reader from an IP address that resolves to Milton Keynes. That would explain her radio silence since her birthday.

---

Me and Trina had a fabulous weekend out dancing in glamorous Leyland. For the first time they opened up a little room which was only intended for the DJs to broadcast onto a soul music radio station from, but which became a cupboard-sized nest of housey happiness. Someone took a minute or two of video from it but I'm not sure if the laity can access it, and I'm not au courant with the video tag in HTML5 yet, but you could try clicking on this and seeing if your name's on the guest list.

If you can get in, you'll notice a girl with straight black hair and a midnight blue top. There was a delicious vein of flirting going on between us all weekend. I do understand that that sounds like the over-imaginative projections of a 50-year-old, but I am not making it up. The careful danced bodily diplomacy of managing the space between you and someone you like is as near to paradise as you'll get in Leyland.

Since then it's all gone downhill with Trina. I stay over at the girls' at the weekends, and she was texting from my house on Friday night, needily asking me to come round for a cuddle at 1am. On Saturday afternoon we went round to Kitty's and got stoned and drunk and chatty with Wendy and her Somewhat Controlling Husband, and I made the error of mentioning Karen -- with whom things have never progressed beyond flirting -- after which Trina said, rather obviously, that she had to go.

All was then proceeding happily, when Wendy's daughter flung herself at her mum, causing them to crash into the sideboard and making a nasty lump on Wendy's head. Somewhat Controlling Husband began lecturing Wendy about her drinking. I texted her this morning to see if she was OK. She said that she was in trouble with SCH but "that's nothing new." Trina had sent me several long late night texts about how we could have been so good for each other and what do you value and why are you pushing me away... and so on and so on. I deleted them before getting to their ends.

She came round to watch the rugby this afternoon. The wrong side of a bottle of red, she came into the kitchen, where I was washing up, and said in what I heard as a contemptuous voice, "I don't know how she can live like this." I felt a flare of irritation towards Trina and protectiveness towards Kirsty, who works fucking hard and is one of the loveliest and kindest women I have ever met. What does it matter if she leaves the kitchen in a bit of a state when she goes off on Friday morning? "Well, if you don't like it you can always go to your boat." Off Trina went, without a word.

I carried on with making tea for us all. Trina texted to say she'd left me a note. I got back to mine at about 10pm this evening, picked it up, saw only the final unhidden sentence "I have had enough!" and threw it away without reading it. She's sleeping in the room below this one. We're supposed to be going to the wine club on Tuesday but we'll have to see. And she wonders why I have told her more than once that there is not a cat in hell's chance of her becoming my girlfriend.

Whilst in Leyland, we were invited to spend a weekend in Derby with a couple of people I know from going out bopping. I'd still like to take them up on that but I think she had in mind a bit more of a coupley do than if I turned up on my own.

---

Kim rang to say she's free on the weekend of the soul weekender in Morecambe in May (where last year, me and Donna had such a great time), so I asked her over. It'd be helpful if Trina could stay split up with me until after that is finished, because Kim and Trina together would be a fucking car crash, with me in the middle and all the joy gone. Trina is jealous of Kim; and it would be weird, sleeping with Kim with Trina in the room below.

---

In more pacific territory, I took two of my daughters to their interviews at a sixth form college in Middletown. Train fare wasted again -- no ticket checks anywhere. There was a mini-branch of a commercial coffee outlet in the long common room. I've never seen that before in a school and I take a dim view of such a development. School coffee should be bitter, scalding hot, in thin paper cups impossible to hold, and served at 20p a go by a busty woman from Blackburn with a full-figured tabard frontage.