Jolon Fairweather’s day off.

It’s Sunday, and a lot has happened since I last wrote.

On Wednesday, I went to work. On Thursday, I did the same. Friday, I called in sick.

Wasn’t actually sick. I just couldn’t be bothered with it all. Checked Slack at 11 to see if anyone had said anything. They hadn’t, which is either good or bad. Or neither.

Probably have their own shit going on and don’t care.

Went out for a walk. Didn’t have a plan. Turned right at the bakery for a change. There’s a new WatchHouse. Wanky nonsense.

Carried on past a man arguing with a lamp post and crossed the road to avoid a man with a clipboard.

It was overcast because Britain, but not cold. I ended up at the park. There were geese everywhere. One of them hissed at me, which felt excessive. I wasn’t even that close.

Chose a bench near the pond and watched a child drop little toy soldiers into it like he was sending them to war. His mum was on her phone as they drifted away forever.

Stayed a while. Didn’t check the time. Didn’t check Slack again. Took a different route back home. Made it feel like I did more with the day.

Dinner was a sandwich. The bread was stale. I toasted it, so it didn’t matter. Went to bed early. Slept OK.

Had a couple of drinks yesterday. Picked out a film on Netflix. Can’t remember what it was called. Saw most of it, fell asleep before the end.

Woke on the sofa this morning with a sore head. Wrote my first article for Medium. Ordered a takeaway and tried to finish the movie.

Thought it wrapped up nicely. But turns out I’d clicked the wrong one. Still, it worked. The assassin became a bookseller and married Meg Ryan.

Tomorrow, I will go to work again. And on Tuesday. And Wednesday.

Will try to get my rambling published. See if anyone wants it. Not sure it’s any good.

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