God I’m so tired. I think I might be about to write a whole blog about being tired because I can’t really see beyond it, guys. That’s where we’ve got to. Three hours sleep and then two jobs. Job 1: The least vigilant invigilator ever. They could’ve rolled in with a six foot neon sign with all the answers flashing on it and I might have missed it. They could’ve paid a seven foot dog to take their Business Economics paper and I wouldn’t have noticed until it came to the end of the exam and they’d eaten the questions. I made it to the end of the exam without falling over and then had lunch with my brother which was a lovely interlude and a much needed catch up. Although I can’t say I’m a fan of the new Pret “Lasagne Macaroni”. Worth a try though.

Then I went to Borough in order to coordinate two people who were helping carry a ton of furniture upstairs into a tiny little low ceilinged space. The same ton of stuff I had just hauled through the night. It still needed to go upstairs and into a resemblance of organisation. Golfo Josh and I had beaten some order into it some time ago. It was time to see how well that days work had stayed the test of time.

Surprisingly well, it turns out. I arrived to find them baffled by a note from Golfo. “What’s chair city?” “Material town?” “Carol Corner?” These lads work the bar in Gatsby. This is a whole new world for them, created by three people in a similar state of exhaustion to mine now.

In delirium over the course of a hard day’s work bent double and repeatedly smashing our heads on the ceiling, we had built a whole theatrical storage city. I taught the alleyways of our wood and cloth metropolis to Josh and Harry, whilst occasionally pausing to almost pass out as I hoiked a bag of gravy boats up a cold flight of stairs in Gatsby’s Jazz Bar and physically understood how fucking tired I am.

We got it all beautifully loaded, and even had time for a photo shoot.


Now I’m home. I rushed home because a friend of mine hadn’t got the message that I was going to be there and was walking from Victoria to my house. I got home to discover that she had arrived at the place I rushed from. Now she’s coming back to mine on public transport, or at least I think she is. We’re cooking for her dietaries, and both Mel and I are almost incomprehensible with exhaustion. I want to be asleep in an hour if I can be. I’m hoping the doorbell rings but I’m worried she doesn’t even have my address. She’s a friend from the pilgrimage, with no phone and extremely limited internet access. Communication is not easy in these circumstances when you’re not exhausted.

I’m driving for at least ten hours tomorrow. I’m hoping the doorbell rings soon, so I can welcome her in and then vanish into Dreamland.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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