I don’t have a title today

1. 8.31am. Where are those piano fuckers, I bellow, a toothbrush in one hand and a shoe in the other. They were meant to be here by 8.30 and I’m going to be late.

1. 8.32am. The doorbell. It’s the piano people.

2. 8.35am. J’s steel-framed upright piano and heirloom has been prised out of its corner, and wheeled out the door in under 4 minutes, without a grunt. The piano is off to a good home.

3. 8.36am. I start bawling uncontrollably, much to J’s surprise. It’s nice to be reminded of how soppy you are, he says, offering me a hug.

4. The cat has darted out the house, sulking. He doesn’t like it that the piano is gone either; he used to have so much fun running down the stairs at full speed and crashing into it head first. It would make a lovely muffled musical sound, too.

5. 8.45. I’m still bawling my eyes out. It’s not even mine! I can’t even play the damn thing! I put my other shoe on, finish brushing my teeth and leave the house. The Italian-lady-next-door is out gardening. Today is full of challenges aready.