There's several parallels with the time I split up with Angie: I farewelled Angie at the airport. She gave up her job too. She was going to live in NZ too. And I was left with our sick animal (a cat with the black spot), and had to take it to the vet on my own, to get it put to sleep.
This is not good. I'm great at being on my own, so long as I know the cellmate's coming home one day. But she's hinting she won't even be coming to Europe. What's the point of going on holiday alone? To clean out the old dear's place. And take on the former piddledorf pension plan with no support team?
Jeez, how did it suddenly come to this?
Of course, everything balances up, so on the plus side: er, ... well it's fortunate that there's no firearms here. Besides I'd have to blow out the dog's brains before my own, and I couldn't face that.
At least the kitchen will be less messy with the cellmate out of the way. See? I knew there was a silver lining somewhere.