It's an absolutely beautiful morning. Blue, cloudless skies, warm but with a gentle breeze, the gentle hum of suburban traffic and children's voices from the street as they chatter on their way to school. I prod the dogs into the yard with my foot and close the door grumpily (making a mental note to wear some underwear before opening the door, again). Bloody Mondays. They seem to come around with alarming frequency, moreso than any other day of the week. I'm not a morning person in any case, but on Monday I feel particulartly wretched. The degree of wretchedness is in direct inverse proportion to the good time I have had since 5pm on the previous Friday, and on this particular Monday I take whatever solace I can in the fact that it must have been a thoroughly enjoyable (aka excessive) weekend.
The routine/recovery consists of two aspirin, a Holland & Barret "super antioxidant" washed down with a little bottle of one of those foul tasting yoghurty drinks with live (?) bacteria that the ad tells me will have me doing summersaults on the way to work - no doubt wind powered. Followed by coffee, copious amounts of toothpaste and the hottest shower I can bear. I'm very tempted to have a glass of the unfinished bottle of wine I've just spotted in the fridge, but it's going to be a long day so I might as well start getting the feeling like a damp dishcloth out of the way sooner rather than later.
I feel better. I've been awake for nearly twenty minutes now and I've come a long way. I'm no longer appalled by the taste in my mouth, solids have begun to become a real possibility (though much later in the day), and I can bend over over with real confidence in returning to an upright position without nausea or fear of pitching forwards.
It's time to try a cigarette, and turn on the radio, I'm nothing if not a creature of habit. One day I live in hope that I'll switch on the radio to find that it's really Sunday, or an anonymous benefactor has donated a bank holiday and I can go back to bed. But it's not to be today, the cheeky, chirpy god wit on the radio tells me what I already know, it's sunny outside and 8.15 all over.
Why am I standing in a towel in the kitchen holding a tub of gravy granuals??.......ah yes, the dogs. They come in with repproachful looks, you forgot us didn't you, you toss pot - but I'm innured to the guilt now, after all they stole my breakfast out of the pizza box (on my chest) while I was 'taking a nap' on the living room carpet on Friday night.
It's a day for shorts, t-shirt and flip flops. I wrack my brain to try to remember if we have any visitors to the office today and whether I need to make even a minimal effort - but I just can't remember and the effort (and lack of result) is quite depressing so I decide to take a chance and dress for the weather.