I hate decisions.
It is a fairly typical Autumn day here. It’s cold, grey and the rain is pissing down like an elephant after a feed of pints, with no signs of any let-up. It’s just after three in the afternoon but already I have the lights on. In short – it’s a miserable fucking day.
Now Herself likes her Sunday papers. She gets restless without them and that means a sulk for the next week.
So do I go and collect the paper now and get drenched for the rest of the day?
Do I go and dry out in the pub?
Do I leave it ‘til later so that I’ll spend a lesser portion of the day dripping on the floor?
Do I tell Herself to go get it if it’s so damned important, and then try to live with the consequences?
Do I invite the daughter up for the evening [and by the way, could she collect the paper on the way?] and suffer a house full of noisy grandkids?
I fucking hate decisions.