Flexi-time

That was a nice message. I could reply to it right away. So, I’ll reply … mm … later. First, I’ll have a cup of tea and read that article that caught my eye on my RSS feed.

While I wait for the kettle to boil, perhaps I could put some washing in the machine. No, by the time I’ve sorted out my colours, the water won’t be BOILING hot anymore and I’ll have to boil it all over again. Forget that. I could … I need a pee, I’ll pee.

I’ve had a pee, the kettle’s just boiled. Well done. Perhaps some chocolate to go with that tea. Hm. Nice. Now a cigarette. Better go into the garden for that; don’t want to stink out the living room, flatmates won’t be chuffed.

Now, what was I going to do? Oh, the article. Ah, the computer’s indoors. Hm. Must fill the moments. Maybe I’ll call someone. Who can I call? Who can I call? Who can I call? Who do I feel like calling?

Those weeds are ridiculous. We’ve got such a big garden, so much potential. We could have a Vogue Ball out here, that’s one hell of a runway. Nextdoor have barbecues. We should have barbecues. But the council will have to fix that drain.

I can’t believe that drain. I can’t believe they only unblocked it three weeks ago. What keeps blocking it? It’s un-believeable. I’ll bet them upstairs are pouring fats down the plughole. I bet that’s what it is. I’ve a good mind to go upstairs and say, “What are you pouring down the plug? It’s blocking the drain and we’ve got scum all over our runway. We need you to stop pouring fats down the drain else it’ll ruin our Vogue Ball.”

But it might not be the flat directly above. It might be the one above that, or the one above that, or the one above that. I’m not going to knock on all the doors. I’ll get a reputation for being the curmudgeonly little fart on the ground floor. They’ll end up pouring fats down the drain just to spite me.

Why am I back at the kettle? I’ll have another cup of tea since I’m here. This is way too much caffeine. Now, who was I going to call?

I wonder if any of those boys nextdoor are a bit gay or if they’re just Italian.

I must renew my gym membership. I’m gonna turn into a blimp. Hm. But I’m not in bad shape. I might not be a cover boy, but… Oh, for heaven’s sake, who wants to be a cover boy, anyway? I’ve got more important things to do with my time than spend all my time down the gym.

There might be a dead rat in the drain.

But I must renew that membership. And those library books are way late. Where are they, even, anyway? If a complete stranger walked into my bedroom they’d think I was somehow dysfunctional.

Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Let’s read that article. Then, we’ll work on some music.

I’ll just check my messages first.