Up hill, down dale

Hello! I am in Yorkshire! Me and Sooz came up on Friday morning (v early). We are staying in a wee village called Sowerby Bridge, in the house her Uncle grew up in (and no longer lives in). It is the house that time and taste forgot, but that carpet madness remembered! Swirly patterns of such staggering LCD-ness that I almost tripped as I came in!

Not forgetting the matching wallpaper or the lemon (LEMON!) bathroom set. We are in heaven.

Sowerby Bridge is but a stonesthrow (ok, a 5-mile walk) from Hebden Bridge, which would you believe has more lesbians per capita than any other place in the WHOLE UK! I think Sooz had a badly-hidden agenda!

We went to a place called Saltaire on Saturday, where the choir apparently came on their Leeds trip last summer. It is an old factory in a town set up by a wealthy mill owner, Mr. Salt. David Hockney, famous moxual artist, was born in the town, and his art did litter the walls. We had some v lovely cake (CAKE!) as we sat in the restaurant. Mmm.

Yesterday we were supposed to go to Manchester to meet Sooz's ex, but we were so v tired after a 5-mile lesbo-hike that it was not a look I could wear. So we went back to the gaybar we had frequented the previous night. We played canasta, which my cousin retaught me last Tuesday in a gay bar in Paris. (fact! I went to Paris at the beginning of last week for a few days. It was teh coolness!)

Anyway. The thing is, I have been unpacking all these boxes I got back from Toulouse where I used to live, and I came across a book called "Le Coeur Découvert" by Michel Tremblay, a super Canadian author. Francis, my ex, gave me it in 1999, saying it reminded him of our relationship.

And yes, I found the book in a Toulouse box, and brought it on hols here. And began reading it again. And cried. And cried. And cried. And then texted Francis. Ooops.

The thing is, I can now realise all the lovely bits of our relationship. I spent so very long just pouring scorn on it, with my "Oh my God he was just the world's biggest loser, n'est-ce pas?". When in fact, I think I was doing the 'protection' thing. Sitting in the lesbian bar with Sooz last night telling her about the time I broke the toilet by putting chicken bones down it and thus obliging me and Francis to poo on newspapers in the adjoining room for 3 days was actually really funny. It was significantly less funny at the time, mind!

So there we are. Reading that book just brought it all back. Canasta, coffee, listening to French music, me being a supremely bad loser. Kisses, touches, complicity, bref l'amour, quoi...

And now Paul who has moved back to Oz, is also experiencing the horridness of breakup and how very existentially rocking it is. It's a wonder anyone ever dares to love again. Hmm, is that my mindtalk?

I am becoming a hypnotherapist, you know. I didn't say that before. It is v g. I am v g. Hurrah. I qualify in July.

Must fly, Sooz has been chained to the kitchen sink and stove making us a cooked breakfast and we are going to eat it. We are having fun. She is my lesbian wife. Pretty much. Oh yeah, the reason I can even post this is that I am leeching Internet from next door's wireless network connection. Technology pride!

Sweden in a month. And I have bought a new flat! Goodbye to the neighbours from Hell on a stick.

:o)