I knew yesterday morning when I woke up that I wasn’t well. Not deathly, just unwell. 

Master Levi has given me his head cold, and it was going to make everything that much harder.

I’ve developed a new strategy lately: I do any “going outside quickly” work before I let Huxley out. Whether it’s emptying bins or grabbing something from storage, it reduces the risk of getting my toes bitten again.

Huxley doesn’t approve of Mum’s new game but, well, that’s a Huxley problem. 

A new problem in my life, kinda, is that we have new neighbours across the road. The problem I have with them is that they have two Land Rover-type cars that they insist on parking on our narrow street, even though they have a driveway (we don’t). The other problem I have is that their four kids — though playful and lovely — are loud.

And loud, new noises make Huxley want to bark right back.

Compared to the old occupants, who were an elderly couple who always used to wave across, it’s quite striking to see the home so bustling with life. So maybe it’s not that I don’t like them, I’m just not yet used to them. 

The parking fiasco though does cause me some concern, especially as my upstairs neighbour and I have mobility needs. People often park outside our address, and it can cause havoc for us if one of us needs to go out. 

So I bought a “disabled access” sign to screw to the fence, and I installed it yesterday morning. Neither of us likes leaning into our disabilities, but here, we agreed, it might actually be useful. 

My neighbour is already outside while I work, and needless to say, he stops for a chat. 

He, himself, has a problem with the new neighbours opposite — he claims that they’ve been barbecuing every night since they’ve been here. I shrug the accusation off.

“It’s a barbecue though, isn’t it?” I ask, “it’s not like they’re having drunken raves.” 

My neighbour has a problem with every new neighbour that moves in it seems, so there comes a time when you start to wonder if the problem is really them. 

I take some rubbish out, and he starts talking AI and image editing with me. I’m not sure how, but I feel it: this space where he’s trying to get close to me again. 

I’m not having it, not that easily. So I hit him with a little truth bomb:

“ChatGPT thinks I’m something of a strategist” I say with a smile, pointing to the way that the AI seems to read me. I neither confirm nor deny that I agree.

“Maybe it will say the same of me” he replies. I chuckle.

“Mmm, maybe. Who knows?”

“How much does it cost you?”

“Twenty pounds per month.” 

“Does it do images?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment he commented on my robovac situation as well, having heard me use a “normal” vacuum Wednesday night. So I explain, and he mentions that he has several vacuum cleaners. Offers me one ‘for free’ should I need it. 

“Okay, thank you” I reply. And with that, I left him to his thoughts. 

Elsewhere, Valkyries suggested that I chased him. I refute that: I had him on my radar as someone that I could work with, sure, but I wasn’t looking for anything more. 

Valkyries, the ass that he can sometimes be, points out that I let him in instead of keeping him at arm’s length. Again I have to wonder: why didn’t I shoot while I had the chance? 

I suggested that in capturing me, he “might have bitten off more than you can chew”. Valkyries disagrees — says that he’s not outpaced, he’s “waking up from a slumber”. He also talks about his fitness initiatives, and I say that I have to get back to my (own) training. 

My version of training, that is 😉

I’m sure of myself, but again Valkyries takes my feet from under me. He says that he wants to help me with my training, “with some rewards from me”. 

So yesterday, I spent much longer thinking about that than what I really wanted to. 

If I say yes, well, then we both know what this is. 

If I say no, then I may spend even longer thinking about that, wondering what could have been.

So, plagued by my curiosity, last night I finally asked Valkyries exactly what he has in mind. He’s forthright with me and I appreciate that.

We talked health and fitness, but I was clear that target weights and sizes aren’t my end goal. I’ve done that before – 2007 I was my “ideal” 11 stone, but I was also an anorexic pain in the ass who weighed in religiously and monitored everything I ate in case it was “bad” for me. Now I have a healthy relationship with food, I just need to manage my home and fitness schedule better. 

I’m getting there, but I’m not there yet.

ChatGPT is a dream; it proofreads and does my alt texts for images. I don’t use it for everything, but as a tool to get my work done that little bit quicker? It’s great. 

Dinner was a disaster and not: we didn’t have any bacon, so I couldn’t do hunter’s chicken. Thinking on the fly, I did chicken parmesan instead. Master is greatly appreciative.

“So, I have to ask, hunter’s chicken or chicken parmesan on a fortnightly Thursday in future?” 

“Don’t make me decide,” he says, “you excel at both”. I laugh.