Whenever I have nothing to write the first thing that comes to my mind is the weather. I don’t know if it’s laziness or Britishness. My computer tells me it is brutishness. Maybe it’s right.
I pour a glass of red wine, even though I can still taste the minty chewing gum in my mouth. I only had the gum to displace the sugar on my teeth from the fruit pastilles. When I ate the fruit pastilles I split open the pack so I could see the colours and eat them in order of ascending preference. Even with the pick and choose of orange vs red they didn’t last long.
I don’t really take a lunch break; instead I eat while reading emails and then make up for it with brief forays into the internet and twitter at occasional moments. Every time I use the printer I stretch while looking out the window. The printer is less than a yard from my desk.
I yawn loudly knowing no-one can hear me. In my office no one can hear you scream. Not that I've tried.
Today I combed my hair down instead of pushing it up and forward into my normal quiff. It feels more feminine. I run my fingers through my fringe and pretend that I look like Audrey Tautou.
We’ve run out of peas so I put broad beans in a pan to go with the fish and chips; crinkle cut chips because they taste better.
I like to wash up without drying. The pans rest on the draining board at odd angles. Mr Manbag calls this “draining board Jenga”.
The door slams and I hear his footfalls on the stairs.
In the lounge I can hear three different clocks ticking out the seconds, like a trio of metronomes.
My knee hurts. It always hurts. A movement in the wrong direction, pressure on my patella or the cold weather make it ache and when I turn over in bed I use my left leg to push my right around. But when I saw the doctor I said that I am usually in good health. Perhaps being an optimist isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
It’s stopped snowing and the road seems to have dried without me noticing. I should pay more attention to the weather.