An evening back in May chez Joe & Laina

I had the evening to shop and cook. This was a useful and enjoyable prospect. At the weekend we were travelling to France. We wanted to save money by having a picnic on the ferry, and this was the slot I’d set aside to prepare it in. The rest of the week I was out; and so yes, I was taking pleasure in domesticity this evening.

I brought the shopping in and put it away, listing to Zane Lowe, chopping the potato into thinnish slices for Spanish omelette. Joe got home around 8.15. He’d been to the gym. I was frying the potato and onion. They were swimming in oil.

I walked to my room and saw that the door to Joe’s room, was open but the light was off: he’d gone out again.

He returned after half nine. He’d been for a jog.

‘Where do the days go, Dez?’ he asked me, coming back into the kitchen.

‘You jog them away,’ I said.

‘You cook them away,’ he replied.

I couldn’t argue with that. Although I wanted to.