Dream on.

Looking across the office and out of the window at the wall of the Marks & Spencer next door, I see that it is still sunny as it was this morning. You tend to miss that stuck in an office and I dare not go out at lunchtime in case I forget to come back to my desk.

The weather right now is just how I like it. The sun is out, the sky is blue, but there is a cool wind blowing not too strongly, so it is still relatively cool. Cool, but pleasant. I don’t like the higher temperatures, particularly when accompanied by the inevitable humidity.

Once again, I muse on the possibility of winning a huge sum on the lottery. I ought to buy lottery tickets; I believe the jackpot for tomorrow night’s draw is a cool £10 million. It’s not the biggest it’s ever been, but it would suit me down to the ground. We could buy a bigger house, somewhere out in the country, with a bit of land. We might, I dare say, even have a car each. Plush, eh? With that sort of cash, we could even maintain a flat in town in case we wanted to take in a show, don’tcha know.

Either way, we would have a bigger house (not that I dislike the Gin Palace, far from it) and Furtle could have her cats and I could have a cat-free space. We could have a garden similar to what we have now, with a patio and a Pimm’s Corner, where we would have seating under an apple tree, with easy access to strawberries, mint and whatever else gets into a Pimm’s. I daresay we would have a small shed or outhouse, fully plumbed with a small kitchen and powered so we could have wi-fi, lights, quiet music and most importantly, a fridge for the rest of the fixin’s.

There would be a patio, a pond, many trees and bushes, scented herbs and shrubs. All would be well with the world and I should not be in this damned office dreaming about whiling away sunny afternoons, instead of missing them sitting at a computer answering letters from semi-literate slack jaws who complain that they are not heavily subsidised enough.

I must put more compost on the potato plants later.

Dream on.

Looking across the office and out of the window at the wall of the Marks & Spencer next door, I see that it is still sunny as it was this morning. You tend to miss that stuck in an office and I dare not go out at lunchtime in case I forget to come back to my desk.

The weather right now is just how I like it. The sun is out, the sky is blue, but there is a cool wind blowing not too strongly, so it is still relatively cool. Cool, but pleasant. I don’t like the higher temperatures, particularly when accompanied by the inevitable humidity.

Once again, I muse on the possibility of winning a huge sum on the lottery. I ought to buy lottery tickets; I believe the jackpot for tomorrow night’s draw is a cool £10 million. It’s not the biggest it’s ever been, but it would suit me down to the ground. We could buy a bigger house, somewhere out in the country, with a bit of land. We might, I dare say, even have a car each. Plush, eh? With that sort of cash, we could even maintain a flat in town in case we wanted to take in a show, don’tcha know.

Either way, we would have a bigger house (not that I dislike the Gin Palace, far from it) and Furtle could have her cats and I could have a cat-free space. We could have a garden similar to what we have now, with a patio and a Pimm’s Corner, where we would have seating under an apple tree, with easy access to strawberries, mint and whatever else gets into a Pimm’s. I daresay we would have a small shed or outhouse, fully plumbed with a small kitchen and powered so we could have wi-fi, lights, quiet music and most importantly, a fridge for the rest of the fixin’s.

There would be a patio, a pond, many trees and bushes, scented herbs and shrubs. All would be well with the world and I should not be in this damned office dreaming about whiling away sunny afternoons, instead of missing them sitting at a computer answering letters from semi-literate slack jaws who complain that they are not heavily subsidised enough.

I must put more compost on the potato plants later.