It would seem that The Ex is getting a little bit odder, if such a thing is possible.
I bumped into a mutual friend yesterday and after correcting the usual list of misunderstandings ("You do know that she moved her boyfriend in within a week of me moving out?") learned that The Ex had begun suffering panic attacks, had been signed off work for some time and was taking some serious mind-altering medication to stave off a nervous breakdown.
It may surprise you that this news did not leave me with the warm glow that Ex-related misfortunes normally do.
Even in my bitterness, I felt sick with worry. Not for The Ex, but for First-Born who has to live in the environment. First-born tends not to talk about her home-life much (and I don't like to pry) - the most recent hint that all may not be roses is her assertion that she does not want to attend The Ex and Boyfriend's wedding. I shall ponder my next action with care.
Positive news from the surreal department. On the way into work this morning, the nose cone of Concorde was seen making its way down the High Street and further on, a lorry had shed its load onto the road. The load appeared to be boxloads of feather boas.
I'd forgotten my camera. Damn.
