Sheffield from London, first thing in the morning? Excellent. 

Said veeeery few people.

This morning’s variation on the standard middle aged misery of being unable to find my glasses because I couldn’t see without them: As I searched with increasing urgency (because I hadn’t included ‘find glasses’ in my list of 5am tasks) I became convinced that Sean had hidden them in revenge for my declaration that his homework, a drawing of an elephant, fell short of the high standards of realism that the elephant himself could have managed with a broken tree branch and some dung. This had been compounded by my assertion that Monday nights (when Lisa is out on her course) are not ‘Slacker Nights’ and we could not watch Rambo: First Blood while eating Crunchies.

Then, after I had put my contact lenses in (causing me to cry as I engraved my cornea with my fingernails), I found my glasses. In my sock. Where I had put them in order to avoid this misery.

Why does the man in the mirror have such sad (and bleeding) eyes?

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