Bits. & Bobs

Monday. Umbrellas discarded, their skeletal remains picked over by the wind.
We had beers with Keith and Gillian; all they could talk about was the weather. Almost as if we'd not noticed that constant rain. Keith's office has been underwater. Riverside, he used to brag. My attic office a winner, for once.

Tuesday. Sorting the bloody broadband, again. Hours, it was. On my knees under the desk. Later, in the pub, Keith made some crude joke. My glare cut him off. Had an early night.

Woke late on Wednesday. Slept fitfully. The sudden scatter of water thrashing against the window brought me round. No electric. Alarm clock dead. Had a meeting with my accountant. Keep my hood up on the bus. Slept fitfully.

Went out Thursday after work. Keith was there; Gillian wasn't. Didn't ask and he didn't say. Unusual. Forgot my mobile, and when I got home there was a green light blinking at me. I knew it was her before I'd even picked it up, its glowing screen casting a blue, sickly haze across my face. Deleted without listening.

Burned the toast for my late-night snack. Smoke alarm pinging loud; a thump from the flat above. I knew I'd pay for it at some point - loud music, noisy sex, high heels on the wooden floor, notes under the door threatening stuff.

I'd run out of butter anyway.