0

 Not, No, Naught

In fact, Zero 

Sound of an early ambulance outside, the sound of this writing man's cough echoing between the narrow back yards belonging to all those buildings placed one right next to the other. Like yesterday, the ritual breakfast is done with, the eggs on toast were good and the coffee was great.

The birds are twittering outside, the pigeons are silent. It is probably wrens or finches or some such smaller bird. Perhaps they are still nesting, but it seems a little late for that.

There is no plan in the head for today. What had been done yesterday, made that unnecessary, it is purely a matter of waiting, now.

Now, at this moment, at a quarter to six in the morning of Tuesday, July 19, realise that there are no plans for the rest of the day.

Check the calendar on the computer, in a week there will be a date with the photographer to have a picture taken, a selfie will not do. All for the publicity department of the university, a sort of weirdness being out of a job and yet remaining in close contact with the job.

But meanwhile, there is no plan. There is a cough, and this is a nuisance.