Not a day I would care to repeat,
filled as it was with the most
teeth-grindingly awful encounters with banks and officialdom,
blank-eyed computer operators,
processes and procedures,
and above all Queues.
I tried three Post Offices with an urgent package,
and couldn't bring myself to join the first two
as they shuffled wearily towards 'cashier number 3',
who was the sole service provider for 30 people.
I queued incorrectly in a bank
and a department store
and had to start again.
I failed to acquire a vital stamp for vital documents
and was unable to replace a pair of trousers for
a new suit that had been borrowed, ripped and then lost.
But then things looked up.
Or rather I did,
and I saw house martins flying from the rooftops
in a shopping precinct
and a giant fiery red sun
magnified in the gap between a church
and a multi-storey car park.
Then as it sank,
I smelt the chill, damp,
sour apple-scented air
and decided to visit two people
for whom a day like mine
would have taken a week to accomplish
without the ease of mobility that I have.