Damp Sun-day

Sunday afternoon. Really feels like the morning though. Woke up and had pains in the back of the head, chest, arm, elbow and ankle. Where they come from is anyone’s guess.
My girlfriends mother was talking on the answerphone. There I am in bed wondering where this voice is coming from.

* * *

Drank a strong paracetamol mixed with some pain killers.
Dandy.
Things better now.
Although I’m missing Columbo. Sunday without Columbo is like rolly without a Rizla.
The wind is getting up.
Imagine all the cats are indoors. Those that aren’t probably stuck to cars, the sides of houses and walls miles away from home.
Save the owner a few pence on whiskas.
Well, we are in a recession; every little helps.

* * *

Sunday limbo.
Nothing like it. A rare quiet.
And no, I don’t mean church.

* * *

Paintings slowly rotting in a damp basement.

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One thought on “Damp Sun-day

  1. Yo Maxwell. You shouldn’t let your girlfriend’s mother sit on your answering machine (at least, not unless she’s very slight, one of the wee people, maybe with a pot of gold to boot).
    I buried my neightbour’s cat the other day. It had gone blind and starved itself to death. Before it died it’s eyes had started to atrophy and fill with clotted blood. Quite horrible, really. The ground was harder than it looked and so digging the grave took a while; maybe I just dug too deep. My neighbour cried.
    You’re an admirably prolific fellow, aren’t you.

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