Day Two. Dear Year…

Dear Year…

I expect much from you, just as you likely do from me. I will give unto you so long as you keep me sailing under your calendar.

As you know yesterday I triumphiantly posted my first blog and slept thankfully under a blanket of typeface and words. Dreaming of the success and the podium finishes these scribbles will grant me I awoke with heavy cat on even heavier bladder asking questions of where to go next. I was asking the questions not the cat.

The cat never answered.

The answer was to the bathroom but the bigger picture was to here. You see, I now have an outlet to vent my frustrations and victories, no matter how small or likely epic.


3rd letter of first pets mothers maiden name followed by a dizzying sequence of numbers?…Internet banking was shady frustration. However, momentarily becoming St. Andrew: finder of lost things was glowing light, as epic as they come. A sentimental brooch, passed through the family, belonging to my fiance and lost in the memory forever was victoriously found by myself!

It was under a wardrobe. £4.50’s worth of Tesco vouchers added a cherry. Can days come any better?

It is only Day Two, so rather than rest on my cheeks, striking whilst the iron is hot (I must start to switch said appliance off after use) I plan to dust off my gym membership and test the grey matter in asking it which direction the gym is. The cat might answer this one.

I mentioned fiance there didn’t I? So the detectives out there know I am a thirty year old male, I have a cat, today I claimed to be St.Andrew, I am doing the predictable and going to the gym in January and I have a fiancé. Stop asking for more…be patient, you are full for today and any extra will repeat on you.

I bid you farewell.

Which way?



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Filed under 30's, Culture, Writers

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