My eyebrows are looking particularly excellent this morning. Sometimes they can look better a week after the barber’s than they do straight away. The new growth suggests maybe I’m just a little bit rough around the edges. Maybe I can try it with a little careful stubble…

Yes, I think I’ll do nicely. New shirt, Alison’s ironed my chinos acceptably and I smell wonderful. Issey Miyake.

Alison’s banging on about something. She used to enjoy the way I take care of myself, but now all she does is drone on about chores. Today it’s about picking Cassie up from nursery.

“I’ve got a really important meeting, so you absolutely can’t forget this time. They only ever phone me, they never bother phoning the dads and I can’t miss this meeting.”

I don’t remember when Alison became so obsessed with her career. It wouldn’t hurt her to put Cassie first once in a while. She is our only child.

“You need to be there for eleven o’clock, alright?”

“Of course I’ll be there. It’ll be difficult, but _I_ think it’s important to prioritise our daughter’s needs over my own sometimes.”

“Why difficult? It’s not like you’re working -”

“Do you have to rub it in? I’m actually meeting Davey about a possible writing gig.”

“But Davey never pays you.”

“God you’re obsessed with money, Alison. If I’m going to make it as a writer I have to do my time to the unpaid graft. It’ll be worth it when I’m published. You’ll see.”

She’s gearing up to one of her rants and, honestly, no-one has time for that kind of negativity. So I slip out before she can build up a head of steam.

It is a glorious day, a perfect autumnal setting for my new suede jacket. I make my way down to the coffee shop for a morning of important journaling. Instagram says that any decent writer has to make the time to keep a journal, so I’ll need to get some good photos while I’m there.

Davey pops in at half ten, sunlight glinting off his big bowling ball head. God the man is ugly, but he’s something of a bigwig in the writing circles so it’s good to keep in his orbit. No work this time, but he’s promised a bit of copy editing soon. I shout him a coffee as a thank you.

Oh bugger it’s half past eleven. No missed calls from the nursery, so Alison’s probably sorted all that out after all. I’d better get back and make sure she hasn’t set fire to the house or anything.

Alison’s car isn’t here. Odd. Cassie needs to be having her lunch now, what is Alison playing at? Honestly, the poor kid is being dragged up. I’ll have to have a word. It’s not on.

I’ll just sit here and wait for them to get back. Might be able to sneak a bite of whatever she’s rustling up for lunch. I wonder why all of Cassie’s shoes are gone from the rack. And her teddies. Project for nursery, maybe?

I’ll read the note Alison’s left me on the counter later, she’ll only be nagging about something. Doesn’t she know I have to focus on my writing?