Sabato

Saturday! What a lovely day for oversleeping, waking to supportive emails, buying 4 dynamic microphones, going for a walk with an overchatty comrade, sharing unusually good pizza, finding the hoodia pills don't work at all, and going back to sleep.

I will happily spend the whole night talking and texting with C if he needs it. But I do tend to imagine that I can be alert and useful the next day after 3 hours sleep. The truth is I need - and generally find a way to get - 6 hours sleep out of every 24. This means I've slept during lectures, in empty classrooms between lectures, and indeed at work.

The last time I slept in my chair at work, the boss didn't wake me up because I "looked so peaceful there". I want another boss like that. If I ever turn into a bougois manager in a cheap suit, I want to be a boss like that.

Maplin Electronics didn't have four microphones in stock - it's somehow just typical for the UKs major street vendor of electonic goods to have one of everything they sell . But they did order four, to be delivered to my house in a few days.

Paul T may be annoyingly prolix, and be rather self absorbed (though not enough to keep a blog), but he did buy me pizza, and gave me some useful advice on relocation: Don't move home or country simply because the one you're in is no good - you need a good solid reason to live in the place you move to.

In other words, don't go there only because you don't want to be here.

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You'll never guess what I've just found. Yes, the two missing microphones. Neatly bound up in a sensible place.

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I was under the impression that love was supposed to be nice. Not romantic-comedy-with-Hugh-Grant nice, not brief-encounter-at-a-train-station nice, and certainly not cinderella-lives-happily-ever-after-with-the-boring-prince nice. But the companionship of cuddling in front of a movie you've both seen far too many times, spending the evening in seperate rooms but feeling good that we're together, making out on the carpet at five in the morning and sharing breakfast two hours later.

This is like the brakes on my bike failing just as I'm cycling 'round a busy roundabout, and I career wildly in the wrong direction, before winding up in a heap on the pavement. It's that feeling, slowed down to last several weeks.

It's obviously much worse for C - he's the one that's got to deal with illness, fear and impossible situations. All I've got to deal with is caring so much about his well being. And feeling so helpless that I can't make it all right for him.

We'll see each other one more time before he jets off to adventures in Peru. Then we have two weeks to sort our respective feelings out, being unable to contact each other. I'm already looking forward to welcoming him back, and he hasn't even gone yet.

Look, I can't tell whether this thing will last six months before imploding, six years before amicably splitting up, or whether we'll be a sweetly eccentric queeny odd-couple for the rest of our lives. I just know it's important to try hard to make this one work. And it frustrates me that I can't do more.