My heart went out to you...

I had dinner with a gorgeous long-lost friend on Thursday. He's one of those people who was joyously ever available for insults, comedy nights out, serious conversation, profound religious discussion, humorous political reflection, and burritos. I say was, because a couple a years ago he moved across the pond to Illinois, by the lake to be precise (see what I did there? The irony of it - there's a plethora of lakes, I've seen them). He's still there, in cyberspace, but you can't hug an email. Anyway, imagine the thrill, he's back in town For One Week Only! So we had dinner at my favourite place (location unimportant but they do fab big chips) and for an entire evening I was back in time by two years, being insulted, laughing at his jokes, giving advice on his success with the ladies. It was swell as those American friends of ours say.

Then the subject of this blog came up. He's been reading it at work, between selling grains and luminous carbonated drinks to fatten up the US military. He observed that my blog was pretty depressing, and his heart went out to me, blood and sinew floating across the lakes and the pond, through Heathrow airport, down the tube line underground to little old me, lying in my pink bed fast asleep, tetley tea in my kitchen cupboard. I've always known that suffering breeds art, that it's so much easier to write about melancholy than joy, that a fun picnic in the park provides so much less material than a break-up or a fight with a friend, but I was sad because he had been sad when he read it. So I kinda decided to try to be more positive - you can be the judge of my resolution!