Monday morning, forced jovillity pouring out of the radio. Kids bicker whilst you think of all the things to do at work. Noise, and brutal weather.
Load the dishwasher whilst trying to straighten your tie, load the cars, set the burglar alarm, whose effectiveness you always ominously suspect, and away to do the day
And oh no you’ve forgotten something. Whilst you gossip and send emails, spiders crawl unseen across your clean carpet and wheetabix and milk congeals into THE hardest substance known to man.
You return home, tired. Another day gone. You can’t work out if its a good thing you have one fewer day on earth, or a bad thing. Tea. God, where are the chillies. God, the mince is past its best before but it looks alright. Chop an onion. No tears. Nothing left inside you, that’s why. Is it too early for gin? Probably. Check facebook on your phone, instead. Boring. Nothing new, but then there never is
As it cooks, watch the cheap meat turn from pink into globules of insipid grey, this is not like on the TV. A bump from upstairs, a loud one, but you ignore it awaiting the cry and the ‘mummy’.
Set the table, ah bother there is some wheetabix dried onto it. Try to scrape it off with your nail. Howl in absolute agony as the wheetbix, stuck to the table as if it had been superglued on, goes in the spot between your finger and nail. Pain intense you see red, red the colour the mince in the pan was supposed to have been, once.
Dried wheetabix is the strongest substance known to man. I once read a story about a man who stabbed this other man to death in a sauna with an knife made in ice he kept in a flask and I once read ‘leg of lamb’ by Roald Dahl. You could combine these two stories into one by stabbing someone with wheetabix.
This stuff would go through armour. In fact, they should use it as armour. Our troops would have been imperveous to taliban roadside bombs had their uniforms been caked in a dried milk and wheetabix concoction, assuming the mixture was correct.
They should coat the space shuttle in this stuff. No more blowing up in orbit, the space shuttle could go up to space regluar as a 42 bus from Didsbury into town caked in this. Impervious.
Blood drips from your finger into tea. You don’t think anyone will notice. If anything, it looks to have given it more colour.
Another day on the books
Not for Ms Tonic, though. This is what she comes back to after a hard day at work:
And how do you get to perfection?