Sunday Morning ©

I am lying on the couch, flat, toes pressing up against the arm
The air is cold and I know I should put warmer clothes on
But I don’t
The waste removal van is outside
Bottles are clanking their way noisily into the
yawning back
My mind is distracted, I have slept but am exhausted
The news is on and I occasionally turn my head towards it
“Man cured of HIV”
I wonder what that means for the world, if it’s real
It’s Sunday morning
I'm lonely

Park Life

British summer days are brilliant. Packing my bag with suntan cream, my book, my mat and my iPod. Lying in the park with dozens of strangers, feeling the sun on my face, hearing the useless conversations around me. Being social without having to socialise. The best kind of social. Three chapters and 50 songs later, slightly reddened and blissfully smug, I walk home and lie on the couch...but I don't feel bad about doing nothing, because I've done nothing outside. It's different: it's summer, it's park life.

The man for the job (part 2)

When I first postulated my theory of the indescribable attractiveness of a man who is good at what he does, (see The man for the job) I had only ever experienced this effect in a professional office-bound setting. However, for the past 8 weeks I have observed another type of profession which has caused me to revise my theory to include manual labour. Our office refurbishment is being managed by such a man. Nondescript to start with, the way he goes about doing his job has transformed him in my eyes. Competent, knowledgeable and thorough, he carries himself like a man whose life is exactly as he wants it to be. I totally fancy him.