“Ok, but I’m not going to everybody’s bloody birthday and everybody’s bloody brunch,” I huffed, my begrudging condition on agreeing to move back to London after five years in the wilds of rural Somerset. “And it’s only for a year, while we figure out our next move.”
Then, four days after being back: “I’m so glad we’re here! Let’s make this permanent!” It helped that I’d not had a single invite to a birthday or brunch.
