Room with a view.

In the middle of writing down some important information displayed whilst surfing. Needed to record the transaction number for proof later, and my trusty 'Uniball Vision Elite', with purple ink...runs out! I've had it for a gazillion years it seems, but it gave up that ghost!

So, there I am, ruining umpteen pieces of blank paper trying to get it to work, You know what it's like. You go round and round in circles, pressing harder and harder, feeling sure that any moment, it will miraculously start writing again and I can complete my task. Instead, it just rips the paper to shreds!

So now you start warming it up in your hands, thinking heat might loosen up or thin out the ink and might just start flowing again. No luck. Another piece of paper ruined. You breathe on it, slowly, to make sure your breath is as warm as possible, but still nothing.

Next, you hold it at the end and whip it back and forth to try and make what ever ink is left sticking to the edges force it's way into the roller-ball and you'll squeeze that last little fraction of ink out so you can finish you number. The final piece of plain paper gets rolled into a ball and finds the bin, thrown in an overhead basketball motion then followed with the back of the throat 'muted' cheer the we fellas do to simulate the crowd going wild on a successful 2 points!...hands flailing in the air demonstrating their joy as accompaniment to the cheer.

You finally have to give up, reach for the drawer, pull out another pen. Will this one last as long? Be as faithful? Earn it's keep?

For the chosen one is now definitely dead. I must get the dog to have a quick chew on the new one so that it feels like my old faithful. It is with sadness that I move ceremoniously to the bin for official burial. As I stand contemplating whether a faithful roller-ball pen is deserving of a few words, inexplicably, it slips from my hands. An impulse makes me snatch out to catch it. I don't know why. Falling wouldn't matter. It's just a sub-conscious impulse.

In doing so, I feel it in between my fingers and pull it towards the safety of my chest, feeling it jab into me. I lift the bin, and hurl it in.

I rub my chest - as I could feel where it had jabbed into me - I notice a purple line of ink down my favourite jumper! Where the hell did that come from. I dig the pen back out of the bin and scribble on a post-it-note on the desk. Nothing! What's that about?

So, as I'm changing my top in our dressing room, light was streaming in through the window that is now partially blocked by our prolific and fast growing Japanese Maple. Many of the leaves were back-lit by the sun and they provide both privacy and a pleasant backdrop to out dressing room. Wasn't sure which I preferred, so gave you 3!