not help

The day is inwardly facing grey and the orb joining the horizons is that desolate shade too today. The insides feel awful and there is little joy in getting up. The first sound is the loud trampling of the wife charging upstairs. The sound is like a heavy herbivore on the run. Finish the ablutions in the bathroom and then go in to the kitchen to start making breakfast.

The wife enters and proclaims that the houses heating is dysfunctional. Say that there is nothing to be done right now, breakfast is being prepared. She says that she has pressed the reset button and the machinery works, but that she does not know whether it will continue to do so. Not being clairvoyant, agree with her and continue to work on the coffee pot. Then there is a demand on whether or not there is news from the tax office, she is expecting some refund. Answer "no" and continue working. She infers that this is unusual. Agree with a "yes".

End of story, make breakfast, go upstairs and be annoyed.

Go back down later and remind the son that it will be time to meet with the person who had had the birthday party one month ago.

Later, meet outside the strange café, the one that all the writers from the local paper meet at. They sit outside this café smoking cigars and drinking whisky in a homage to Hemingway. Perhaps it is really so.

Inside, the woman and her husband look a the book. There are thanks all round, then that is it.

Shop at the supermarket, and then go home.

And now the depressions are awful

upstairs, hurry upstairs to lie down.

Wait until the grey stuff goes away. The son is being pleasant. That is nice, but it does not help.