Wilf rang me yesterday whilst I was at work, from the tenure of the conversation he'd clearly been drinking and was a little slurred. The upshot was that he invited himself to my flat today and decided to unburden himself to me (metaphorically, not sexually, I'm not really into that kind of thing these days and there's the chance of staining to think about.)
He arrived at 10:30 in his new car, well I say new, but he's sold the Audi and replaced it with a 1998 VW Golf - which he says handles well with all the features of German reliability, but I'm pretty sure looks like a huge tin can on wheels. He's taken the Queen's shilling, well the redundancy package anyway and will be leaving the Department in late June. When asked about his future plans he was extremely vague and said that he'd thought of becoming a freelance beekeeper in the home counties. I sniffed at this idea and suggested that he begin updating and sending out his CV asap but he just ignored me and started complaining that people who worked were 'selling themselves cheap' and 'he was above such things.' He consumed the best part of two bottles of wine far too quickly which caused him to fall asleep on the sofa, therefore I've taken the laptop to my bedroom and am writing this as he snores away.
I suppose he'll be over the limit and unable to return to suburban Essex tonight. Great, I was thinking about watching the latest edition of Midsomer Murders tonight whilst consuming an entire Vienetta, my plans are now scuppered by a drunken ex-boyfriend. Great!
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