...because one does not want to get all gushingly sentimental on one's blog, but what the hell.
The Burproosters have left for The Country, are safely ensconced in The Country as I type, and I miss that Burp! It's all very well saying it's only 400-odd kilometres away and she'll be back for this and I'll be down for that and it will practically be the same - it won't be the same and that's just that.
It's not even that that I mind so much. It's getting there, to that other way of being, that I find so hard. Once changed, I'm happy - but changing is always horrific for me.
I'm just so glad that I still have New Girl, whose friendship over the past 12 months has been like a miracle to me, and Scarab and the delightfully mercurial k., who could be here for a year or two or could just as easily pack up tomorrow for a new place. However long k. is in town for, I'm always grateful for it.
The Burp and The Rooster and several of their neighbours have for the last few years been putting on a Christmas lights spectacle that has grown and grown and attracted more and more cars cruising down their street of a summer evening. This year The Burp and a few others got a Christmas card dropped in their mailbox from someone who lives several streets away. The card thanked them for their efforts with the lights and for bringing Christmas back to the suburb.
And that's what The Burp is doing now, bringing Christmas and Burpness to a whole new place. Until they get it, they won't realise how badly they needed it.