Technically speaking I am now a criminal, because I took my trusty Ibanez guitar down to the shop to fix something (one of the tuning screws was a little loose), and once that was finished I met with a group of people from my old school who just happened to pass me by when I came out of the shop.

English: Bin Busker A busker playing his guita...
Photo credit: Wikipedia

It was nice seeing them again, and we spent a couple of hours hanging out and catching up with what’s been happening to them, and to me. Of course, everyone was either incredulous or awed that we went through with the marriage, but I managed to deflect attention from that back to the old school drama and gossip that fuelled our two years back in our college.

Since I had my guitar with me they whined and begged and pestered me about singing a song. After an interminable two seconds I relented, and sang something. That’s where the criminality thing comes in because you need to have a license to do busking in this town, and since we were near the train station and my backpack was on the ground a couple of people threw some coins on it.

So, I expect the SWAT team to break down my door at any moment. The plods will charge in and bring me in for questioning about crimes against music, decency, fashion, and for violating the requirement for having a license to perform street music. I may have to change the name of the blog to Prisonology before long.

When I came home the working class pride of the love of my life had asserted itself, and he proudly declared that he would take up the brick laying job again. He is going back to work, and he starts the next weekend. He has already rung the owner of the construction company, and they say that they’ll be glad to have him back.

This may have been caused by my tweaking of him for belonging to the propertied classes these days, with a house in a nice middle class area and a tenant downstairs. Or it might be because of the trip to South Africa, and the influence of my parents in our lives. Or it may be for some other reason altogether. Maybe he needs to get paid work if I’m going to head off to prison to write the new chapter of this blog, the one about bending over in the shower in the presence of Bob the Bastard. While Bob shows me the error of my musical ways, Mark will toil in the sweat of his labour. Maybe he’ll think of me?

Seriously, I’m a bit concerned about the bricklaying because I wonder if it’s going to affect his studies any. While I will have a fairly easy schedule with just a few hours of lectures per week, Mark has far more to do. And since all I’ve read about Fresher’s week is that it is the starting point for weeks of intense socializing and partying, I’m not sure he’ll be able to keep up.

Haha, yes, I did talk about starting uni with a mate who went through the process two years ago, and the funny thing is that he mentioned very little of real study. It was more about the hall life, the parties, the clubs, and the exhaustion caused by that. Since we live in this town, we won’t be living on campus, so we’re a bit outside the hall experience – but we’ll have to get some of that, don’t we?

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