Unfortunately I have to work tomorrow (it’s a Saturday). Fortunately though, I was able to leave work early today at three, which was very nice given the current return of summer.
Up at Mojo at the old Bank Centre, conditions were perfect for an al fresco coffee. The sun was not shining directly on the pavement outside, but was instead reflected off the old Colonial Mutual building across the road, bathing the paving stones with a beautiful light without too much uncomfortable heat.
Because there was plenty enough of that anyway, with temperatures in the high 20s °C and humidity at tropical levels. And no wind. Yes, you did read that.
The coffee arrived. The light caught the crockery glaze. It looked so deep. I stared at it. (I’m so tired at the moment I can effortlessly simulate an ethanolic haze. And being free at this time of the afternoon felt weird, as if I was wagging school on a fine day.) Eventually I drunk it.
I shambled off to the public library, finding those two Steph Swainston books at once. I was pleased. I’d been looking for them for a while.
Then the bus, and home. No-one there: R. and the girls were out. I opened the house to let out its furnace breeze, opened a beer, and sat down on the couch to read. It was so quiet I could hear the ringing in my ears. Sitting turned to lying. Somewhere about page 60 I must have fallen asleep, thoughts of flying men and a thousand year war against a hive civilisation.
I awoke to the phone. R. and the girls were on their way; could I order tea? Yep, I could. And did. The sun was going behind the hills.
Yet, it was still hot. So when they arrived we ate outside in the growing dark.
Could there be another day like this? Maybe on Sunday? Please?