I lie unmoving on the floor of Joseph’s bedroom, stretching my back into shape as I listen to the splattering of raindrops against his window. A cold north wind blows them on, a rare wind in these parts. So rare is this wind, and so sheltered is our flat from all other directions, that the sound of rain against glass seems alien for a moment.
Seven hours we spent on the patio today, eating and drinking and being merry, happy for our extra holiday and not giving a damn as to the reasons why. My feet ache, my back aches, and I’ve been through about half a bottle of Pimm’s since lunchtime.
It’s half past nine, but it feels like it could be midnight.
This morning, the world full of light and caffeine and promise, I had a thoughtful post in my head. It was about royalty, and what purpose they served, and it was about smiling couples and flags waved in the streets while NHS bad news is buried and Stoke’s Croft burns.
But this evening, the world is full of darkness and alcohol and rain beating against windows. I’m starting to feel detached again – unconcerned with human things like weddings and internets and eating and sleeping. Thoughts are difficult and half-formed; better save that thoughtful post for another day.
EDIT: Thanks Newsweek, for negating the need for my blog post with just four words: http://yfrog.com/gz7batfj