No Fish on Sunday.

yes- this WAS in colour last time.

Every Sunday at the local market, I meet a guy called Guy.

Usually I am at the fish stall, he is at the wine stall; the two stalls are neighbours.

I say – “how are you”, he says he’s fine and asks me how I am.

And I say I’m fine, or a bit wet, or waiting for spring.

Or all three.

Then he says – “Alors?”.

And I pretend innocence and say –“what?.

Then he tells me that his daughter and my son aren’t what they were when they said we are, not any more, anymore, anyway.

I say – “I don’t know, I don’t want to get involved”

Then he says – ‘no, it’s official.”

This happens EVERY Sunday.

Sometimes the – “no, it’s official” is slightly qualified in a way that only a guy called Guy is able to, being as he is possibly privy to one half of a lot of cloudy information available on the subject.

A few days later I picked my son up from the airport – this was a first.

Not a first picking someone up at the airport – it’s what I do with my life when I’m not scribbling away on this blog- but it was first concerning my own son.

In the car he mentioned someone.

So I said how is she?

He said he didn’t know.

I said – er, isn’t she your girlfriend?

He said - he didn’t know.

I said – you don’t know if she’s your girlfriend?

He said – I’m trying to be careful.

I said – you know the other day you asked me what I thought you should do… did you mean that? Are you worried?

Well blimey, to cut a long story short, they aren’t, but they were and they could be, if he wasn’t, and she wasn’t, and they might, if she, and if he and…

Basically, I’m not going to buy any fish at the market this weekend.

int/16