It’s one of those days where the sky, in its torment, is in a perpetual cycle of weeping and sniffling. Water pooled on the bike shed roof undulates like it’s populated by a mass of baby eels and I’m glad it’s not a cycling day.
Sadly it is also, thanks to the torrents, not a horse riding day, and so I resign myself to a day of housework and attempting the telegraph crossword from yesterday’s paper. I can’t even muster the enthusiasm to go and get my free coffee from the local waitrose, and the coffee maker here needs cleaning. Boxes of coffee pods, no instant coffee and a machine that needs just a little tlc. Rather than fix the problem, of course, I will drink black tea instead, though we all know that this is not a very reasonable substitute as far as hot caffinated beverages go.
“Got a little red line
That tells you, boy
Where the razor’s been”