Drinks

So it came to pass that I found myself at the end of a week waiting in a bar for after-work drinks with L, and others. Circumstances required me to arrive early; I ordered drinks and some olives for the others and sat down with the solitary drinker’s paraphernalia: the Guardian crossword and a book or two.
Then, by an extraordinary stroke of luck, L too came early. She sat with me and we talked; the subject matter of our conversation was inconsequential, but I watched here eyes and wondered at their colour in the evening light.
The next day I was elated: the radio played the second Brandenburg concerto when I switched it on at breakfast, and the sun shone for the first time in many days. The mood did not last. A few days later I am drinking heavily and exist in a slough of forgotten tasks , missed appointments, broken shoelaces and piles of papers I can’t be bothered to throw away. My concentration is non-existent, when I try to speak I stumble over words and I have not finished a crossword for days. Her romance with her perfect young man continues to flourish; I thought I might be over her; I am not