After a bank holiday weekend, I’m back at work. Back in the study. Back in front of my work laptop. For the first time in about five months, I’m wearing something other than cargo shorts and a t-shirt. I guess this is where I have to admit it’s September, and start pulling fleeces and hoodies from the drawers. Today I’m wearing jeans, walking boots, and a dark grey hoodie – you may as well start calling me Elliot, and ask when I’m starting F-Society.

I wrote that opening paragraph at lunchtime. It’s now a quarter to midnight. It’s been that kind of day. I’m not sure I have much to add really. I can’t write about work, I won’t write about family, so you get the contents of my head instead.

(a short pause while I push a load of forgotten rubbish off a desk in the corner of my brain, and then have a coughing fit from the cloud of dust that ensues as a result)

This evening I flew a pretend Boeing 737 to Port Elizabeth in South Africa, along with the group that my Dad regularly “flies” with. Perhaps the most entertaining part of the entire endeavour was hearing a grown man have a temper tantrum at the end of the flight (not me, honest). Thankfully air traffic control communication requires “push to talk”, otherwise the entire group might have heard me laughing like Mutley.


Perhaps it’s time to go make a bowl of cereals, watch some rubbish television, then fall into bed.

2 thoughts on “Tantrums

  1. The man tantrum sounds like a wonderful short story in the making, and it’s ALL YOURS. ☺️I’ll start you off and you can write the rest: ‘Alfred was afraid of silence.’ Right. Your turn. Go! We’ll just wait here and prepare our giggles for show time. 🧑🏻‍💻

    Liked by 1 person

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