A Couple of Weeks Ago.

“This is bloody ridiculous” I think to myself as I grab the edge of my dining-table.

To be honest it’s been a difficult time. Work has been insane. Video-links to Canary Wharf and ‘monetise’ this and ‘insentivise’ that. My Grandfather has lost his mind and my family and I have had to deal with the process of grieving for a man who is still alive. Despite the fact that ‘he’ is gone.

And I’ve been a bit poorly myself.

Anyway.

I’m gripping my dining-table.

My peripheral vision is long-gone and the blood is pounding in my ears.

Six hours previously a colleague has given me a nice fat rump steak, as she does each month for reasons that neither I nor anyone I know can understand. We can’t imagine how the conversation that would have started this first came up-

Colleague: Fancy a big fat steak once a month? For no reason?

Me: Ok then.

That seems to be the consensus, but I really don’t remember. I’m just grateful of the red meat. Times are hard.

As I say. My lungs feel like they are about to burst.

A few minutes previously I had sent a text. “I’m dipping my chips in blood”.

Haha. I like a rare steak.

As everything begins to cloud – a weird rush of endorphins that make me unconcerned about my impending demise – I wonder if I should get a girlfriend purely to avoid dying in such a foolish manner. I mean, if I didn’t live alone someone could do the Heimlich or something.

Finally I manage to cough a wad of under-cooked, under-chewed steak onto the table.

I grab some kitchen-roll and continue eating my dinner.