Balloons

Someone's released the balloons left over from Emily's party from their kitchen quarantine; they're blowing all around Norfolk Terrace and popping at random. I keep thinking it's a muffled gunshot. We're up so early because Joao had to leave at 8.45am to go to Gatwick to go to Portugal. First Stacey, and now Joao. The flat crumbles.

I can't write much because I'm hungover from Maud's last night, and the thought of work is making the idiot jumpy and I'm on call for placation duty. She's reading Kant. She read it on the bus yesterday like so much look at me. I was embarrassed.

Consette x