Take the money and run.

Still haven’t used the kettle since that thing. Will get a new one tomorrow. A plastic one. Have been using the microwave to boil water, like it’s the Middle Ages.

People (and robots) keep calling it a panic attack. Maybe. Or maybe it was something worse.

Downloaded a digital wellbeing app over breakfast. Some non-branded Coco Pops. The app’s been buzzing at me all day.

“Turn off notifications to reduce distractions.”

Will book that holiday. Keep saying it to myself. Was reading about the Maldives last night. Looks beautiful. Expensive. They don’t let dogs in.

It’s been worse this week. Constant. Relentless. Working up to something. Judgement. My reckoning

What would Sir Nolan do?

He wouldn’t tolerate this nonsense, that’s for sure. He’d take a stand. Make a speech about harmony and shared spaces. The kind that gets applause. Leaves people clapping as they bleed.

Then he’d point, raise a gloved finger, and say “Enough.” People respect a man who says enough.

Someone’s viewing the flat on Wednesday. A young couple from Margate. I’m still hoping to make a few quid from the sale.

Estate agent doesn’t think so. Says I’ll end up with a mortgage debt. Will the bank take their cut before I can run to the Maldives with it all?

I need to be more like Sir Nolan. Make my own rules. Take what I want. Remove problems with a sword. Or a dog biscuit stuffed with rat poison.

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