I wonder in retrospect whether I should have noted that going up to see someone on Friday the 13th was perhaps foreboding that things were going to go badly wrong. But, let's go ahead with the disasterous tale of my visit to CBDG....
I skipped out of work early to catch the 15:30 train, and worked the entire journey up. Got quite a bit accomplished actually, and chatted with CBDG on Skype the entire trip. Met him at the train station, where randomly we ran into his boss. Talked to the boss briefly, and then he took me on a walk through town, whilst he carried my bag (very gentlemanly of him). It was actually a sunny day, and the town was very picturesque, with a cathedral in the middle, a river running through it, and winding side streets with charming little houses.
We stopped at a pub, the Adam and Eve, which claimed the distinction of being "possibly the oldest pub in Norwich", founded sometime around 1249. With a founding date that early, you do realise that the definitiveness of the claim could indeed be in doubt, although since it was just around the corner from the Cathedral hospital, founded at about the same time. Although it does make you wonder what sort of medical care they were providing in 1249. Probably more likely to die than be cured if you went there.
We sat out in the sunshine, chatting about his upcoming move from Norwich, and his plans to move on to Birmingham. That, and the people who consistently went on the exact same ghost tours around Norwich on a weekly basis.
We walked to his flat, which was a tiny terrace house that he shared with his flatmate, who I met later on. Obviously flamingly gay, giving kisses to his friend who he'd just been out for dinner with, and confusing me yet again about CBDG himself. But more on that later.
The flat reminded me of a house my friends in Cambridge had lived in, and made me once again wonder who on earth the architect was who had designed a house in such a poor manner. You walked in to a tiny square of a mudroom, and had to squirm to turn right and enter the actual living room of the house. The front window, being set so far back, cast very little light into the room, which was a dark cave. You then walked through to the kitchen, passing the stairs on your right, which were angled at such a steep pitch (at least 45 degrees if not steeper), that going up and down was more like climbing a ladder than stairs). The kitchen was nice enough, although then weirdly there was a back corridor, until finally the bathroom could be found at the very back of the house. (Some research online somewhat explains this, as the houses were originally built without bathrooms, but rather only outhouses in the back gardens. So I suppose when they finally tacked on bathrooms, they had to go in the only place there was space for them, where the outhouses had originally been).
After dropping my gear, we headed out for dinner, stopping first at a local pub for another couple of pints. I was the only girl in this place besides the barmaid, although despite the "rough and ready" look of the place, I have to say that everyone inside was quite friendly. Which was a good thing, as I was extremely irritated when he took a phone call as we sat there, just chatting away right in front of me, leaving me staring at the walls and feeling embarrassed that I'd come all this way and here he was not paying attention to me. Had two pints of the local brew, before heading out for dinner, where I noted with surprise that every store in the area closed at 6 PM.
We had a nice enough dinner, where I was surprised to learn that he often went to church by himself (without any parents making him go), and went for the hard-core Anglo-Catholic style of worship. I hadn't expected a hard-core religious type, and I gamely did my best to keep conversation going, although it was often like pulling teeth.
Finally we returned to his flat, and he set about changing the sheets in his bedroom (where I would sleep), and arranging himself down on the sofa downstairs. I'd been surprised by this at first, but figured he didn't want to be presumptive, and thought perhaps as we settled in to watch some comedy, that he might use that opportunity to make a move.
Yet I was to be faked out yet again when he shooed me off the couch into a chair across the room to sit by myself, leaving me beyond irritated at this point. It was beyond him not making a move (I was too pissed off anyway at this point to have gone for that, I was very ticked), it was just the lack of consideration for the effort I'd made to come see him. I was doing my best to be cheerful, charming, pleasant company, and I felt like something close to an imposition, when he'd been the one to invite me up there. So, having had enough of this, I grabbed my things, took over his room (damn right, at least I'll be the one with a real bed), and went off to bed. Goodness, how much longer to survive this weekend?
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