I was just about to write a nice little peaceful passage about the joys of a week and a half away when a combination of factors riled me beyond all recall.
I am sitting on a dining chair typing with a Czech keyboard attached to a computer on my chest of drawers. Underneath the builders continue their usual incessant drilling, starting at 7.30am each day. Behind me Jacques paces around the flat, occasionally coming into my room and shouting at me for whatever reason he has thought of that particular moment.
“…and you never make anything, there are so many things, for example…”
“Jacques, can I have a bit of time, I’m trying to work”
“Oh, I am so sorry for being here and eating yoghurt!”
…two minutes later…
“And also I see you have not….”
Blah blah fucking blah into infinity.
I need a bath before I go to work in an hour and a half.

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