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He wakes up. His muscles scream at him to go back to sleep. He goes to the bathroom instead and empties his bladder and then he goes to the kitchen and fills his bladder with coffee but not directly rather by way of his mouth to his throat and beyond and then outside into the heat of the day and then there is sweating and the sun and the joy of summer and then without warning it snows and there is snow everywhere covering everything and they eat tapas and stand in the wind and then he watches people make up things and it is hilarious and then Veep and Julia Louis-Dreyfus is hilarious and then there is reading of Sartre and napping and other things and red wine and the joy of Spring curtailed by Seasonal television programmes that will probably not last more than three episodes because of nervous advertisers and short sighted television executives and then there is writing and sleep.

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