I said before that I'd write about this later. That would be now. Still inconclusive, but I'll write it and post it anyway.
Both
scarlatti and I want this to work. In fact, even Greg wants this to work. And in the early part of yesterday evening, that's how it looked.But later on that evening, she and I were wrapped in each other's arms ... and we heard Greg moving around, and we quickly separated, guiltily.
I don't like that. I don't want to feel like I'm doing this behind his back. It's not right. Or, more accurately, it doesn't feel right.
Well, off I went back to the hotel, half-an-hour away on the
I did my thinking. I wandered around a closed, deserted, Crystal City. It seemed as if every other shop was run by Conservative Christians, which was no help at all. I returned to the hotel, and had a sit-and think.
And then I phoned her. And it transpires that twenty seconds earlier, Greg had been trying to persuade
scarlatti to phone me. And we talked, and I came back.And while I was walking from Huntingdon Station to their house, Greg's voice came from his parked truck, saying "You gonna walk, or you gonna ride?"
We talked. We talked quite a lot. He made it very clear that we shouldn't feel guilty, that we shouldn't be holding back on his account. And he delivered me back to their house.
And we had some more talk. And we had a Chinese meal, and some more talk. And so on.
Hmph. It's still not clear what the position is.
Random mistranslation of the day: "I think, therefore I have no access to the level where I sum"
