dyner

Der er dage, hvor sengen forlades nogenlunde frivilligt i vanens hellige navn. Så er der dage, hvor hovedpuden blidt hvisker mig i øret, at den anden kind da også lige skal have et farvelkys.
Og så er der de dage, hvor dynen resolut lægger mig i benlås, idet jeg forsøger at forlade sengen. Når jeg endelig får vristet mig fri, hager den sig fast om mit ene ben, og lader sig slæbe henover gulvet, mens den trygler om et sidste put.
Endelig er der dage udenfor kategori. Jeg døber hermed denne morgen: Mont Ventoux.

Det er vist i øvrigt på tide at tage afsked med David Brent:

“I don’t look upon this like it’s the end, I look upon it like it’s moving on you know. It’s almost like my work here’s done. I can’t imagine Jesus going ‘Oh, I’ve told a few people in Bethlehem I’m the son of God, can I just stay here with Mum and Dad now?’ No. You gotta move on. You gotta spread the word. You gotta go to Nazareth, please. And that’s, very much like...me. My world does not end within these four walls, Slough’s a big place. And when I’ve finished with Slough, there’s Reading, Aldershot, Bracknell, you know I’ve got to-Didcott, Yately. You know. My-Winersh, Taplow. Because I am my own boss, I can-Burfield. I can wake up one morning and go ‘Ooh, I don’t feel like working today, can I just stay in bed?’ ‘Ooh, don’t know, better ask the boss.’ ‘David can I stay in bed all day?’ ‘Yes you can David.’ Both me, that’s not me in bed with another bloke called David.”