it was horrible to get up, and it was a horror of bed that forced the rising.
Too late and too early.
And yet another winter's ailment just putting an end to the joys of the weeekend.
Go out to the café with the son, a habit both find relaxing.
His face is covered in teenage spots and pimples.
Sit there morose in front of coffee and a cake
Watch the people come in to the tiny cafe and leave again
Talk to the son.
Ask him about last weeks choir practice.
And realise that this weekend will be spent recovering from a beastly silly cold brought on by the intemperate weather, a cold that robs any ability to indulge in the desired activities.
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