Monday morning strikes again and it’s a huge effort to get going, joints are stiff and painful and the difficulties of my present life seem concertinaed and exaggerated, as though I’m looking down the wrong end of a telescope.
So decide that I might as well do something useful in all this gloom, neck some painkillers and set off for the launderette. And magically the world opens up. It’s sunny and I walk on the sunny side of the street aware of the irony, load the machine and pop next door for a coffee. Bump into a friend who’s recently had a knee replacement and is doing really well, we sit outside and compare notes.
On returning to put things in the dryer, I discover that a whole bizarre menagerie of human beings has arrived. A young man covered in tattooes with a terrier on his lap, a woman with mental health problems dressed for the Arctic and strangest of all a young tourist with her back to us who is eating cold baked beans out of a tin. It’s oddly comforting to be part of this wonderfully bizarre world, I forgot to mention the man with his arm in plaster, who keeps removing and putting it back on (the plaster, not the arm, that really would be something).
Various friends ring to check in and make dates for coffee, lunch and dinner and I remember once again how lucky I am to have such a supportive group of pals.
12 strikes and the thunderclouds of gloom have passed, I rejoin the human race, where everything is possible.