As he stood at the window of his flat looking out over the bay, Ted reflected on his decision to retire to the seaside.
It was pouring with rain again. It did that for about ten months of the year. He’d forgotten that all his favourite memories of the coast were from summer holidays as a nipper. Now, he got irritated in July and August by all the day trippers dropping their litter and empty beer cans all over the streets. Did they do that back in their hometowns? Almost certainly, Ted concluded.
He’d had a good pay-off from his job – plus the government were so scared of losing the old folks’ vote they were piling up the state pension every year. He had more money in the bank than he would ever spend. Then, there was the flat; that was worth a pretty penny. He ought to make a will or the Government would get it all when he went.
He didn’t know a soul when he moved to Mudsea; now look at him, a social diary bursting at the spine.
Monday is the writing group.
Tuesday is film appreciation.
Wednesday is philosophy discussion.
Thursday is a day off for shopping and hoovering the flat.
Friday is the book club.
Saturday is watching football on Sky at the Hairy Hamster.
Sunday is Church.
Ted moves away from the window and switches on the kettle, gets his mug and a teabag before going back to stare again at the rain.
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Words: Richard Rooney
Illustration: A.I.
Flash Fiction 250
Flash Fiction 250 