He wanted to go out, he really did, ( no he didn't ) but that meant having to shave, getting washed and putting clean clothes on, just for the sake of going for a walk, filling the lungs with cold, damp fresh air, and basically just stretching the legs, he could buy a newspaper somewhere, if there was anywhere open, more tea was needed, while the hot water tap was running.
Slowly and quite reluctantly, having cooled the bath-water, and preparing a mug of coffee for when he'd dried himself, he got into the bath and just lied there for a while, thinking about things, the weather, he thought about the church, god knows why, he wasn't religious, and those damned aches and pains, sixty two years old he said to himself, more like a hundred and sixty two, ugh!
Well anyway, he washed himself, made that cup of coffee, forced himself to shave, almost as if some-one held a gun at his head, then got himself dressed. A window was open and he could hear rain falling, oh dear. He mumbled muttered and moaned as he dressed himself.
Breakfast, shuffling around the kitchen as quietly as one could possibly imagine, there was a plate filled with an assortment of vegetables from the day before, a few cold left-over curly fries, a half used tin of processed peas in the fridge. He'd bought himself a tin of stewed steak, but couldn't bear the thought of food being wasted, that could wait for another day.
As he ate, he sat gazing out of the window, there was a car parked with the headlights on, he thought very briefly about knocking the owner's door, never liked them anyway, come to think of it, he'd never really liked anybody for so long now, "anyway".
Eventually, suited and booted, ( boots literally,workboots, with work-clothes, and old grey snorkel parka ) he got his feet in the street and walked, high street bound.
Quietly locking the front door behind him, he always seems to do things quietly nowadays, deliberately, a veritable churchmouse, without the scurrying. But first things first, he just couldn't bring himself to ignore those car headlights, he rung the door-bell, the lady of the house answered, "he has left his headlights on". "Oh has he? Thankyou". He turned and walked away. "Peter!" He heard her yell, " You've left your head lights on". "Thanks mate." Was shouted as he made his way down the street, "no problem" he replied raising an arm.
The rain had stopped, everywhere looked clean, and fresh, "washed". It's so nice when suddenly, after the rain, the sun shines, only it wasn't, just a dull greyness prevailed.
A Thrush sung loud and proud, this weather would of course, have brought out the slugs and snails, Song Thrush heaven, a dove cooed and St.Peters chimed, he counted the eleven peels as he walked.
Up the High Street, youths gathered outside "Booze 4 Less", he really didn't like that place, the very idea, grated somehow, clashed with his personal sense of propriety, to him, it lowered the tone somewhat, he didn't see himself as a snob/prude/social-prefect, call it what you might, it just didn't sit right with him, and that was final.
Having wondered if he might find a shop open, he found that most of them were. Tesco-Express, of course, an Estate Agent, It's a Gift, and to his delight, CostCutters.
CostCutters it was then, he bought a Daily rag, something he'd sworn that he wouldn't ever do, but he was bored, and it would be something to help while away a few minutes, paper bought, he would love to have found some place to sit and read it but all public benches were rain soaked, he made his way home.
Back along the high street, and into the council estate, looking between houses, across the valley, Wind-Turbines stood motionless, Sparrows chattered noisily, Swifts darted and swooped, but no swallows, yet.
Slowly turning the key in the front door, he really didn't want to be there, but he had no place to go, he reminded himself that he could do with an A4 envelope and that there was that shop on the other side of town, yeah right, he admonished himself, Barnstormer Black more like. He'd bought three day's rations and he'd drunk the lot in two,fuckin piss-head. LOOK! he reasoned with himself, it's just one weekend, drinking more than he ought, arguably, and jesus, come on, 2ltrs in one day, actually it had been 3, 2 was the accepted norm, but hell, it's only at the week-end right? He didn't drink in the week. It wasn't a problem, couldn't be a problem, and would not become a problem, his job was the be all and end all, absolutely and totally, unequivocally. Full stop.
So, he turned himself around, locked the front door, and walked. He hoped,desperately, that he might run into somebody that he knew, or rather somebody that he knew, that he wouldn't mind running into ( make of that what you will ) but he didn't, so, he made his way to the shop, they don't sell A4 envelopes but he didn't leave with nothing ( thanks Mm Robinson).
Heading homeward, through the back streets, a group of ferals, the tinny sounds of music, radio probably, from a mobile phone, how did we ever live without those things? He pondered, how quiet, how "STILL" life seemed, for god's sake something happen, he pleaded inwardly, despairingly, but nothing would, it never did, not for him.
Much ado eh?