A Piece of Prose from Yesterday

There comes a time on a Thursday afternoon, before Friday is imminent and when Saturday is as yet only the first blush of dawn on the horizon; when no email is arriving, when the notice board has nothing new; when the internet has been read and re-read, but the American and European news sites have pulled the covers up tight and gone to sleep for the night; when the investment made at lunch brings its drowsy return, and you realise that there are only so many cups of tea that can usefully be drunk in one day; and then you enter the long, dark tea-time of the soul.

Credit, of course, to Douglas Adams for the idea.