One paragraph day

It's been one of those days which doesn't really have anything to say for itself. I think I spent the morning at the kitchen table writing music. I may have done some washing up, and put some laundry into the tumble dryer. I assume I drank eight cups of tea, because, on average, I drink that many cups a day. I ate buttered beigels for lunch, then went to the gym and ran 5km, constantly bemoaning the state of my trainers, which have entirely fallen apart. We went to a cafe, a Costa on the Fortess Road, where there was no phone reception and half the chairs were covered in sheets of plastic. I was simultaneously having a phone row with a person from EE, who was trying, yet failing, to explain to me why I'd reached my data limit for the month. I put Nathan on to him because I genuinely couldn't understand what he was saying. Nathan didn't fare much better, claiming that even though he (Nathan) understood everything the man was saying, the man himself didn't understand what the man himself was saying. I descended into a dark mood, which was only alleviated by half a millionaire's shortbread which Nathan delivered with my sixth cup of tea for the day. I wrote more music whilst Nathan knitted a pair of gloves. At 5pm, he drifted off to a knitting circle and I returned home to finish the first draft of the second part of my composition. I made us both sausages and mash for tea, we went for a walk around the block and through the part of Queen's Wood where the lampposts look like props from a Narnia film, and then returned home to watch Graham Norton on iPlayer. There.