I was ready and waiting at my computer at exactly 8:00 to book a careers appointment as soon as it went live, when some rapscallion stole it from straight under my nose while I was uploading some documents. I was in crisis, with the viability of my two-film cinema trip in ruins, and my mind spiralling off into several different parallel universes of time management. After some meditative exercise, the engineering thought processes were flowing, and I found a way. I love spontaneity, but only when I’m in full control.
The change in plans meant I could enjoy the sunshine before shutting myself inside a darkened box. Lay on the grass in Botanical Gardens, becoming one with the sea of grass, and flies. The arrival of noisy children heralded the time to leave. After my midday careers meeting, I went to the cinema. First, Atomic Blonde, an extremely stylish reunion for the female cast of Fast and Furious 8. Then I saw A Ghost Story, almost a product of a child’s perspective on death and memories. I think I was the only one in the audience who appreciated it though, “That was sh*t,” being declared from the back row as soon as the credits started rolling, with much confused conversation in the toilets afterwards.

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