Jan 222015
 


Picture by David Whiting
Artist: David Whiting

Plan B

Sunday. Bright and early I write a note to Rowan and do a gentle half-hour jog through the snow to his towpath mailbox. He will return from his Buddhist retreat tonight.

There are spent fireworks from New Year along the canal. The world is still asleep. When I get back, my bedsit looks forlorn, and is freezing. But hopefully I won’t, after all, need to fill in these forms and get onto the housing list.

I’d like to go straight back out. Meet a pal. Drink coffee. Commiserate about our crap Christmases. Have a laugh. I’m sick of Tiffany and talking about make-up.

I can’t text Bel again. Not when she snubbed my last one.

I put on my dressing-gown and gloves and return to bed.





 

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  4 responses to “Page 37”

  1. I enjoy wearing a hat in bed these cold nights.

  2. Greetings Chris Murray, I’ve just brought my laptop into bed to browse your website: drawings, paintings, prints, book covers. My ‘bump’ is however proving too small to adequately prop my laptop against, and I’ve dropped my toast… Crumbs stuck in the sheets… Why can’t life just be easy.

  3. Well done Suki, you appear together and affirmed underneath the usual January blues. And they are January blues; don’t take them personally. Don’t Take Them Personally.

  4. Thank you Maggie. Hope you are bearing up yourself, amid the snow and ice and grey misery.
    Anyone seen any snowdrops yet?
    Sniffle.

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