Time On My Hands.

I’m sitting in my caravan. It’s raining outside. I’m thinking of buying a toaster so I don’t have to scorch my bread on the wire contraption over the gas stove. Most of my day will be taken up in making that decision, then searching out a suitable toaster. Then I shall have to choose between marmite and vegemite. I like both. While I’m out I may look for a butcher, as I haven’t eaten any red meat for nearly a week. Shall I splurge on a good eye fillet or some chuck to make chilli? I’m leaning toward the fillet, and I might get some baby spinach, feta and olives for a side salad.

Or maybe not. I am injecting myself daily with an appetite suppressant and only eat because I know I must. I could more easily open a can of corn and have it on toast instead of marmite.

Or perhaps I’ll just sit and look at the rain. I have my pot of coffee.

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