Monkeys

Buy a lot of stuff, you're a good citizen. But if you don't buy a lot of stuff, if you don't, what are you then, I ask you? What? Mentally *ill*. Fact, Jim, fact - if you don't buy things - toilet paper, new cars, computerized yo-yos, electrically-operated sexual devices, stereo systems with brain-implanted headphones, screwdrivers with miniature built-in radar devices, voice-activated computers...

I’m going to drive to work today, because I’ll then go through to Glasgow with piles of clothes that Claire has left out for them. But for some reason the car battery is flat.

It’s Nix’s day off. His pickup is full of wood and has great difficulty getting up to the house. When he makes it, my car jump starts first time, but there’s no clues as to why the battery was drained.

I unload the oven and fridge that have been in the back for days, load up with the clothes, and head into work. The traffic is light because of half term, which is just as well because I’m way late.

The day passes. Work is interspersed with flurries of activity on the flat purchase front. I transfer money, buy building insurance, rearrange workmen.

In Glasgow, I pick up Angus at Murano and Megan at Woodlands and we go down Byres Road to Dumpling Monkey - a vibrant, Chinese café restaurant. The food is arrives really fast, tastes excellent, and is plentiful.

As we eat we work on a couple of Angus’ maths problems. I dredge my memory to remember that ln is the opposite of exp for a simplification of an expression. And then we use the power of the internet to help prove an equation for tanh. It’s a strangely satisfying experience.

Back through the darkness, across the forlorn wilds of South Lanarkshire, to the empty house that’s waiting for me to fill it with slumber.