You Want That To Go?

What does a sensible person (who has packed her cafetière and has no coffee) do on a hot day?  Why, she goes to a dim, air-conditioned Starbucks, and orders the smallest fuck-off huge mug of Americano they have, along with a big cookie.

I cannot tell you how comforting this was.  OK, so I was in the bowels of Schuman metro.  Let's ignore that.  I have exactly two weeks to get everything done and - while I do not doubt I will manage it - the sensation of absolute terror about a millimetre below my surface remains.  It shrieks.  Dogs prick up their ears.  I am terrified about this move.  Globalisation has come to my rescue.  A Starbucks coffee is the same everywhere and so I sat on a very low armchair with a dubious arse stain while Dolly Parton keened about something in the background, and I necked a half a pint of coffee.

A woman who knew the serving staff laughed too much, for way too long.

I have about 35 boxes packed and two items of furniture remain to be disposed of.  Today I was whipping cobwebs off the ceiling with a towel. I fear some sort of hysteria might have taken hold.