One Of Those Days.


The job is not the problem.

I like the job, it’s just that every now and then I have one of those days.

Red is my favourite colour, as you can probably tell.

Red lipstick, red nail polish and red toe nails.

I own a Porsche 356s and, you guessed it, it’s red.

The car belonged to my father and he gave it to me on my thirtieth birthday. The car goes very well with the job.

I drove the Porsche to a meeting with one of our high-profile clients.

I parked it on the street, tripped the kill switch and engaged the steering lock. I wasn’t taking any chances.

No one steals my car.

Of course, I wasn’t factoring in the local council.

Bright red classic sports cars are like candy to a very greedy baby.

Two minutes after the meter expired my little red beauty was on the back of a tow truck being hauled to the impound yard on the other side of town.

Why are impound yards always on the other side of town?

It’s going to cost a bundle to get her out of hock, but that can wait until tomorrow.

To make it worse the client didn’t turn up and he is backing out on the deal.

There goes my Christmas bonus and the deposit on that house that looks out on the bay.

But, like I said, that can all wait until tomorrow.

For now, I’m soaking in the bath, glass of bubbly in one hand and a French cigarette in the other.

Bathing by candlelight is one of life’s special pleasures, and in case you were wondering who the other cigarette belongs to; he’s one of life’s larger pleasures.


When my father owned the Porsche, it was white.


Photo Credit: a poster from an original painting by Vettriano.

29 thoughts on “One Of Those Days.

    • It’s an interesting challenge….. one you have masterfully met. I enjoyed it…… it feels a bit strange but there are a few more on the way. Standing in someone else’s shoes is always an interesting and somewhat disturbing exercise.
      Got invited to a gay writers festival a couple of days ago…… I did mention that I’m straight but they don’t seem to mind…… more ‘other people’s shoes’ practice I guess.


  1. Life is too short to sit at a desk amongst morons each day who don’t give a rats a$$ about me, about what I effectively contribute. Should I continue along this path and lets presume I’m still working here in 10yrs time, regardless of what it is I’ve been working on, once I retire or leave, no one will ever remember my contribution/s, my efforts. There will be no record of my having made any kind of significant change, and all I leave behind are carbon footprints of a place I once worked in. The only memory that’ll exist is my own. So in effect, what will I have to show for it all? My red nail polish, my red Porsche, my red dresses? What are the physical manifestation that are left behind, if any, that I was once there? None. It’s so changeable that it is only real in the moment I live it, and then it is not real anymore.
    A world that is forever changing is an illusion we cling onto. It is not real. Morons!


  2. Ah, a walk on the other side, eh? That’s what I love about writing: you can be anybody. I’ve written a whole novel as a woman and really enjoyed the experience. A female friend read it and asked how I know so much about women and I said truthfully that I have not a clue how women think – i Just try to be human.


    • It is a strange sensation writing with a woman’s voice. I first tried it in the novella I’m working on and I enjoyed the experience but, I too would be the first to admit that I know very little about the workings of the female mind………… and I’m happy to keep it that way…… it’s part of the fascination.


    • I’m sure she does.
      I saw a woman in a very cool restaurant last night who reminded me of this character and she was wearing a red jacket.
      We were celebrating my wife/muse birthday in our favourite restaurant. It takes more than an hour to drive to the city from our house, but it was a very warm night so the long walk from our favourite parking spot was more of a pleasure than a chore.
      The restaurant was full [on a Monday night!] of very cool people who obviously have way more money than we do so it was fun to build a back story for all the tables that were in my eyesight. In the end my wife told me to ‘cut it out’ because she was sure they would hear me. Girls, what are you gonna do!
      Thanks for taking the time to comment.


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