Long day and fireworks

A full day. It seems the world really is waking up.

Off to do the Globe talk in the morning. Such a beautiful morning to be in that powerful building, and I gave my little talk in the river room looking out over the expanse of the Thames shining in the morning sun. I’ve had some wonderful memories from that building and this morning was fun. My head was disorganised and I was rusty, but I could feel the old mechanisms clicking back into place after so long shut in a box.

Still, finishing carried a sense of relief as if a burden had been lifted. 45 minutes is a long time to be talking. The client seemed happy and I accepted a short morning prosecco before rushing across town to Hampstead. Manual labour. The flat is a lot closer to empty now. It’s still not empty. But it’s getting there. And this afternoon, with the help of Jan, Emma and two helpful young men with a Luton Van from Gumtree, we took a great deal of stuff down all the stairs and out. There might be another day of work in this, but I can safely say that the things that matter to my friend have probably been extracted by now and stored in a garage in Camden. It’s not the best solution, but under the circumstances I think I can be happy with my day of work today. Sunday. Day of rest? Ha. I’m pooped.

I’m in bed now having very much enjoyed my personal fireworks display – the one that they lay on for me every year in Battersea Park directly across from my flat. It’s right across the river, framed beautifully in my bedroom window. I get the best view in London, for free. I stood there, body and mind drained from an unfamiliar full throttle Sunday. I let all the clever explosions work their simple magic and I let myself feel tired at last. I hate how they affect pets, but there’s something wonderful about a firework display. Those huge sprays of artifice and colour across the night sky. Just what I needed to wind down. I let the fire do the work.

Now I’m in bed with plenty of time before midnight. Alarm is set bright and early so I can swot up before I drive to fecking Plumstead and do a PowerPoint presentation that somebody sent me last week. It’s switching back on. It really is. If it carries on like this I’ll be fit again in no time.


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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