Malbec on the windowsill

I’m tired tonight. A week of dayjobbery, interrupted tomorrow because of my greed. I had a full day booked, but then another job called me last minute. It pays more, so I cancelled my shifts tomorrow as there’s always people hungry for it. But then the other job told me they’d filled the gap so I ended up accidentally giving myself a day off, which in a way is just as well as I can make use of the twilight of the van to get the rest of the weird bits out of storage before it rolls over into another week. There’s not much left and most of it is probably going to a museum of music hall. But I’m very tired. It’s not 9pm yet and I’m feeling like I want to be asleep already.

I was winding down when Brian remembered it’s local election day. I threw some clothes back on and the pair of us struck out into the surprisingly cold night in order to exercise our democratic right. We got to one polling station, and nothing. Round the corner to another, but the lights were off. Two security guards at the gate of the Royal Hospital. I asked them where the polling station was tonight but they looked at me blankly. No local election today in our borough. Well. At least we tried. We stopped by the shop on the way home and arrived home glad of the effort. We both had been talking on the way up about how we had somehow missed all the info about the candidates and we were going to have to spend time reading at the station. But thankfully we hadn’t heard because there wasn’t a damn election…

Now I’m in my bedroom again, supine. There’s a glass of reasonable Argentinian Malbec on the windowsill behind me, which I intend to be the only one tonight. I occasionally sit up for it. Like now. Mmm. Once this and the dogs l glass is finished, I’ll wind into sleep and treat myself by letting the builders be my alarm in the morning rather than that annoying little jingle that usually claws me from my slumber. No work means less money and yesterday’s booboo could run to thousands so I’m going to have to be careful until I know the bill. But a day off on a Friday before a bank holiday is legit and will help me get the next big eBay push lined up, sharpened and ready to go on Sunday.

I’ve stopped selling my uncle’s clothes. I sold one shirt. It took them two weeks, but they got back yesterday with a horribly worded message about the condition. I had inspected it and seen none of the things they mentioned. But it turns out they just wanted a refund. They got their refund and immediately gave nice feedback despite their long message. I’d have been fine with “We don’t like the shirt, can we have our money back”. But I guess people have to go in fighting in case they’re dealing with an asshole.

Onwards. Good things are coming, not least among them being a good night’s sleep…


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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