Monday’s mood is black

Not helped by questions

What’s wrong?

Have I done something wrong?

Do I have to spell it out before 9am

On Monday morning?

Perpective should arrive

Along with Monday’s newspapers

As I was not killed by an articulated lorry over the weekend

Nor did I fall to my death from a tall building

But Monday’s woes remain not killed off either.

However I begin.

In the living room, I sigh. Fraser has crumbled his toast over the sofa

And chewed and spewed

lumps out off the conkers Angus found at the weekend.

Conkers in March? A triumph of optimism over experience.

Like 3rd marriages said Oscar Wilde.

Hall way. The decorative stones are now decorating the floor. Randomly.

Play room. Oh my God where do I start. Maybe with the shoes.

How many bloody feet do my kids actually have?

Consider chopping off a few before repatriation to the hall


Kitchen. Tidy, wipe, fill the dishwasher with the breakfast plates, put it on. Take

The newspaper to the recycle pile in the office

Where I find another breakfast plate.

Shit shit shit…..why does this always happen.

It is 10.05 am

Fraser comes looking for food.

I give him a snack then return to the living room

Where I collect a variety of wrappers, packets.


Not really a question though. More a statement of fact.

I sigh again. Soon I will hoover. But first

I wash the bloody plate that escaped the dishwasher.

Before picking up one sock and a pyjama bottom.

In the kitchen, I wash, I wipe

Fraser comes in and shouts at me

Incoherently, which always makes me smile .

I don’t play with him enough. He leaves.

Ok the kitchen. It is now cleanish.

Should I hoover? Not the ironing. Ironing is not a morning job.

I should go to the supermarket too.

While deliberating I discover Angus’s packed lunch in the hall

Left over from Friday, clean it and find a cup and glass on the piano

Which I no longer play.

Back to the kitchen, in the sink. They will keep for later.

DS Lawrence said

There is no point to work

Unless it absorbs you

Like an amusing game.

If it doesn’t absorb you

If it’s never any fun

Don’t do it.

And in theory I can’t argue.

But in practice

I get the hoover.

Monday morning is almost over.

Thank God.


By Fiona Lochhead   2011