I have decided that Good Friend in PR is going to re-locate to London. It is where his best friends are, near to his family and where he is (emotionally) “from”.
I’m not going to be pretend that there aren’t some barriers. He lives in New York, and he’s just signed a lease on an incredible new flat in the middle of Manhattan, and he doesn’t think that he’s going to move in the short term. But to be fair, he does acknowledge that I tend to be predictively accurate, so I am hopeful.
I am not sure where my specific time frame came from (“You will be living in London in the next thirteen months”), but I think it was really an indication that I wanted and expected him to be here by next Christmas (he’ll be here for Christmas this year, with us, as he was last year), because it was great to have him back in London for a few days.
He remains my drinking Nemesis: yet another night out with him, that began with an (allegedly – as I can’t stand them, but Wife adores them) amazing Bloody Mary at the house, ended with a return home for us both at 3.30am. This had been preceded by a drunken attempt to find some swings (we had previously been musing on whether or not playgrounds for adults would get a green light, conceptually – and both gave it a hearty thumbs up), which wasn’t entirely successful, but which enabled the evening to end on a pleasantly hedonistic note.
So – thirteen months, and counting.
