Blue Monday

Frustration reigned on Monday. The sun was a blazing orb, the sky clear, and I was working.

The view from my officeThe view from my office mocked me.I watched a solitary walking stride purposefully across the hill. Perhaps he’s retired, with no worries of mortgages, credit crunches and negative equity plaguing his day-to-day.

He could have been having a ‘mental health day’ – a restorative bunk off work when the weather is so divine that a day stuck in a stuffy office is a waste when there are hills to climb, beaches to comb, cricket matches to watch, fish to be caught.

Try, as I might, to justify the skive, I was not be able to join him that day. I had documents to wade through and interviews to prepare for.

To rub salt into the wound, the post arrived and among the humdrum brown envelopes was a catalogue for an outdoor retailer and the summer issue of Backpack magazine, the quarterly journal of the Backpacker’s Club.

I leafed through it and it got me thinking about where I could, or should, be.

I ploughed on through the day and spent the evening watching the sun retreat behind the breast of my hill.

Tuesday dawned dull and I went to London . I climbed aboard a connecting train and noted its nameplate with a smile: Benny RothmanThe Manchester Rambler.

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