Being prepared

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It is most definitely Monday. Let me rewind the opening part of my morning for you, to offer you proof that it is most definitely Monday.

~ wibblywobbly wibblywobbly wibblywobbly ~

I’m lying in bed and somewhere in the distance, through the murk of a lie-in I hear the radio. Voices, a rabble, some music, and then the pips. I open my eyes to hear the announcement of the time.

9 AM.

As my eyes close once more my brain reminds me, in somewhat hurried tones, that I have a meeting in Glasgow at 10.30AM and perhaps, you know, maybe, it might be an idea if I got up.

I tell my brain to shut up.

It responds by sending a large jolt of recognition through my body.

SHIT!!! I need to get the 9.50AM train. Shit shit shit!

I leap out of bed, rush through my morning ablutions, haul on my clothes, hurriedly pack a bag (headphones, book, notepad, pen) and check the time. 9.24AM.

The station is a 30 minute walk from the house. I could rush and make it, probably, or I could get a taxi. As it is I’m still half asleep so decide a taxi is the best option.

Having just ‘won’ 10 minutes I decide to boil the kettle for a quick cup of coffee. Whilst it’s boiling I double-check the details of the meeting. The name of the guy I’m meeting, his phone number, the time 10.30AM, the location (big hotel in Glasgow), and yup, it’s happening on Tuesday the 1st of December.

Balls.

I hate Mondays.

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