Stale by Paul J P Slater

It was a Saturday in late February when I entered the kitchen and collapsed into a chair, my head plunging into my open hands. The forty-degree heat outside was no more help than the high thirties shade temperature. My head was spinning like a top.

I thought I was alone but Her-Indoors lurked around the cooker. ‘What’s up with you?’

‘Just had a call with my 83-year-old mum.’ I said lifting my head. ‘They are in lockdown and she doesn’t understand why she can’t get to the bingo or the hairdressers.’