PDAs and Roses

That wasn’t so bad – I somehow managed to drive somewhat uneventfully to Heathrow, and thankfully, the car park was quite empty on a Saturday morning so no traumas there either. Of course I did wake up and was greeted by the sight of snow coming down, but this time I was determined not to let anything stop me from collecting B, besides I was so desperate to see him after five days without him that I would have driven through a tornado to get to him. Broke my Dry January last night and had several glasses of wine, and it probably wasn’t my best move to drive with a hangover, but hey-ho.

Saw on the screens that B’s flight had landed two minutes ago when I walked in to the terminal, and my heart took a joyful little leap. 20 minutes later, a very tired looking B walked out and my stomach filled with butterflies just as much as it did on our first dates – I reckon I’ll fancy him just as much when we’re grey and old. Shoved the bunch of roses I’d got him into his chest and kissed him silly. I’m not a huge fan of PDAs, but I couldn’t have cared less. Finally my world is right again and having him home is bliss.

Dry January is truly over, and we’ve spent the day pub crawling. Not a mad crawl like the 13 kilometres long crazy crawl we did in the summer of 2013, but slightly more sensible and we’re back home at a reasonable time. Me getting a bit of writing done whilst B’s unpacking, and because it’s too cold to head out and catch last orders now, we’re going to have another drink at home and catch up on the Broadchurch episode B missed when he was away. How very rock’n’roll…

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