“Ah, Shunta, how are you?”
“Well, fine. Apart from the soft tissue damage to my left foot.”
And so it goes with Shunta. His tried-and-tested shock approach has been well-worn over the years, but always manages to catch me unawares. It turns out he has no idea how he did it, so I couldn’t even get a story out of him.
As I’m reporting on friends:
Jac has finally settled down into his new job at Renault, spreading his seed and quietly planning to take over the company with the minimum of fuss, while supplying me with enough anecdotes to justify the expense of the blasted wibbler.com servers.
Nick has changed his car, house and financial status in the past week. He upped sticks and left his bachelor pad in Aldershot about a week ago, making a tidy ?55,000 profit. More to spend on me then, tremendously. He’s moving in to a new, bigger bachelor pad in Woking with a friend, buying a new car (a Peugeot 206 CC cabriolet, the bastard) AND has rid himself of a girlfriend. Crikey.
Shunta is still engaged (all bets are now off), and managing to settle down remarkably well to a life of marital bliss in Cranleigh.
And me? Still trundling along, scraping by on the financial pittance I have spare a month, trying to find a nice place in Guildford to calm my bank manager down. I’m quietly waiting for a lottery win.