I’m in a dark mood this morning, brought on by
- a mild hangover
- a feeling of being fed up with things always going wrong
- listening to dark music
- pondering the fact that no matter how shit things are, someone always has to deal with worse shit
- the thought that I have to do something today I’m not really in the mood to do, but might possibly enjoy once I’m there (at least it isn’t work)
- the continuing silence of the telephone
- a dark book (slightly spoilt by this passage:
I took the fifty out of the change Albert stacked on the bar, then wandered over to the piano, where I stuffed it into the tip bowl, which caused a momentary silence.
“Play something you really like ma’am,” I said, then drifted back to the bar.
“Righto, old chap,” came a voice from the couples. “A delightfully wonderful notion.”
What the hell was a British accent doing in Kerrville, Texas? I asked myself, thinking I’d probably find out as soon as the camel-hair sport coat made it to the bar.
Say what??? I mean, even reading this sounds ridiculous. Clearly the author has never actually spoken to an Englishman in his entire life.)
So, it is out into the day, to tackle chores and obligations, delicate emotions and, quite possibly, another skinful of beer later.