You know those days when everything irks you, things that did no such irking yesterday and probably won’t tomorrow? I’m having one, or I had one until just now when I reminded myself that such minutiae only ever believes in itself. It has no gravitas, no longevity. I know this. We know this. However this irking thing has a spread and a power and cannot be allowed to become aloud. My mum wasn’t good at an irking attack. She had that face on, you know the one, when absolutely nothing is okay no matter what you do or don’t do. She was just plain irked and nobody was going to get away with not recognising her irk. She would seek out opportunities to demonstrate how irked she was, well, until the milkman came or Jeff with the eggs, or a call came through from someone who wasn’t her husband or children. Then, the sun would come out banishing all irks into the shadows. Anyway, enough of her, bless her old dead heart and back to me and mine.

I awoke at 0200 with anxieties galore. Did I say that? Did I commit to something huge and impossible? (typical me) Did I offer to fund a new project? Did I charge the hoover, let the dog out, balance my account? I got up, wandered down the stairs in the dark, counting the steps. There are 12. Please remind me. I recall missing the last one, only once, but only once was enough to freak me out. Thankfully, there was a soft landing. I made tea, marvelled at the starry starry night, and returned to read till 03.30, whence I dozed. Not enough sleeps. My anxieties stood up straight once I did, and I knocked them down like tin soldiers.

However, the morning shift was uncomfortable. I dressed, made coffee, did my chores, let the dog out and the irks in. The washing machine hadn’t spun enough. It took strong glasses to work out that someone, probably Son One, had changed the wotwot on the dial. Then the coffee shot out of the cafetière all over the counter top. I sighed and mopped and settled to Wordle and then to continue play with my scrabble friends. Here’s another irk. Not them, no way, but the adverts in between are currently all about boob jobs, boob uplifts, saucy bras and boyfriends with their hands down said saucy bras. The women are girls, all pert, Kardashianley made-up, and quite impossible. I cannot see a single one of them working for a living. But, before you tell me I could pay for ad disposal, I will not pay that money out, knowing that yesterday it didn’t irk me, and it probably won’t tomorrow. Today it does, it just does. Plus, my own breast is tender. It was yesterday too, but without an irk in sight.

I try to rest early afternoon, but the damn dog doesn’t agree with this resting thing as she wants a walk. She squeaks, jumps around my bed, makes sounds that would make great backing vocals and I have to get up. I am resentful and that irks me. I, unlike my mum, don’t want to show my irkness. So, we set off. A few yards in, she, the dog, clocks the rain and dawdles. It laughs me. I am going on, beyond the rain, beyond my irks and she, well she can just walk it out too. Those raindrops falling all about me are cleansing. I am cleansed of irks.