07:45. Another day, another dollar, whatever that's supposed to mean. Resignation, as ever, looms largest at the outset.
This colder snap hasn't really helped- unless you happen to be a major share-holder in one of 'our' big energy companies- so I'll wrap up in a further layer, avail myself of a warm beverage and curl up around a book. Escapism, exactly the ticket. I just hope that, when I reach for the tea, I can still bend my arms.
Curse of the retired; no sooner have I settled, than the doorbell should ring out in 'cheerful' misrepresentation. So, to the door I should waddle, the option of walking having been sacrificed to that one further layer. Not even a parcel for me, merely a drop off for the at-work neighbours. Naturally there is a small admin charge, so not an entirely wasted journey- a tenner I consider, plucking a random figure from the ether. Postie isn't exactly over the moon but, as I am quick to observe, the Post Office is far from above such things. Perhaps I shall risk half an hour of heating, as due reward.
08:50. As the inside temperature returns to single figures I arm myself with bus pass and venture towards the city library.
09:50. Too slow to sidestep the clipboard-armed youth, a further ten minutes is devoted to the aspired boosted sales of some company of which I have never heard. Chancing my arm, I levy a small admin charge; "Time is money, my friend," I feel obliged to point out. And I'll forgo that chance to 'win' the placatory clothes voucher, thanks all the same. Things are looking up.
It would appear that I am not alone in my yearnings for a smidgen of warmth. The library has been transformed. Are these not the same crowd, with which I once shared a Saga Holiday, albeit somewhat more subdued this time round? Colder too; on this occasion I'll give it another fifteen minutes, before I might venture to shed the outer coat.
11:25. Fortuitous indeed that the library is so conveniently adjacent to those public toilets. Curiously I appear to have passed more liquid than I have actually consumed, maybe my flask has acquired certain TARDIS-like qualities, or maybe it's an age thing.
Delaying the return journey, I opt to join the library; use it or lose it! Naturally there was a very small admin charge. Strictly speaking, it was a tiny bit of a liberty; I'd become obsessed with the ideas of rounding the day's takings up to thirty quid. "So, just the eight pounds, if you please."
17:30. The boiler is roaring, but the living room has barely crept above seventeen degrees. I daren't twitch the dial, so I cocoon myself within a further layer once again. Then I notice the post, which I can no longer bend to retrieve. What's this, 'Don't lose your right to vote!' Another admin charge, think I.
Tomorrow I shall be writing to my bank, to advise them that I am still in the black, despite the numerical protestations of my energy supplier. I believe the going rate is thirty pounds a letter.
Cold callers beware!
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