Anything’s Possible (Nothing Ever Happens)

Friday night. An entire weekend ahead of me. The possibilities.

Very early Saturday. The returning pub crowd wakes me, talking in what passes for hushed voices after too many pints. Switch off the telly and go to bed.

Saturday noon. Still in bed. Time for the weekly shop. Forgot my list. I buy two bottles of Chardonnay and New York cheesecake as a treat.

Sunday morning. Slept on the couch again. A handful of painkillers, then bed because of the hangover. Didn’t mean to drink both bottles.

Monday morning. An entire week ahead of me. Is it Friday night yet?