I leave work at around 3:30. The sky is grey and the stickiness that stuck all over the air for the past few weeks has been replaced by a sting.
I turn right instead of left because I need petrol. I always need petrol. €40 should do it. I go into the shop to pay. Why the fuck did anyone let Tesco get their hands on fuel supplies? I consider a magazine, but realise I don't want to know about the secret love of a BB babe, whatever that might be. Nor do I wish to see them 'unclothed as never before!', as another publication offers.
Apparently €40 gets you half a tank now.
As I start to drive away apocalyptically loud hailstones begin to fall. It's September.
I want to switch on the car radio but I can't. It doesn't work. It hasn't worked since I bought the fucking thing.
The clock reaches towards 4 as I hit the M50. It's filling up like it shouldn't be filling up at this time. The moisture in the air means enough drivers are on enough of a go-slow to turn my 30 minute drive into a 50 minute one.
No sooner am I home than the beloved calls me for a lift. I am happy about this. The car will not start. I am not happy about this. I know that it will start later but later is no good right now.I walk to meet her instead. I am now glad I bought that severely-reduced-on-sale-but-still-too-expensive-for-what-it-is raincoat last month.
The rain is pissy rather than heavy, but it is consistent. There's a flash of lightning over a nearby hill and a tummy rumble of thunder right behind it. It's September.
For the sake of shelter we pay a visit to the bookshop. It doesn't have a name you would recognise above it and I like that. It also often doesn't have what I want, but today there is one copy of Persepolis left. This makes me happy. I will read it to sleep later on. No, later on I will drop the ladyfriend home and drive off, with my book snug in her bag.
I watch the news at 9. The 72 year old who sings songs about bombing Iran is ahead in the race to be leader of the free world. Gardaí are increasing their armed units. Belarus says it will no longer allow Chernobyl children to come on holidays to Ireland.
They tell me it will be the seventh anniversary of a critical event in history in one week's time. I think it was the day the world broke a giant mirror.