Tales from a Travelling salesman

Life, less cluttered   There is not much clutter in my life. My life was not much cluttered. As a fastidious child and a fussy adult, I brooked no clutter around me. My heart and soul are cluttered but my habits are clean and efficient, manners always impeccable, cupboards military neat, and the office desk clean as the pulpit of a church. My wife, however, did not believe in this mumbo-jumbo and asked me to clean up my act and my cupboard, a desk, and little wardrobe.  Here I was then, one Sunday afternoon, fortified with a pint Bira beer, sat to de-cluttering my adult life of 50 years. Cloths first. I did not possess many suits, but few I had to go. I no longer wear them. Out went with suits, all my outdated corporate attitudes, false pretenses, and stiff upper lips. I did not need them either. One black suit I kept for funeral attendance, as I live in a predominantly Catholic suburb.  Shirts & trousers. I need trousers but all white shirts have to go out. I...

Monday morning   Monday is a disorienting day. While working, I was never sure if my job was exciting enough to rush to work or dull enough to stay home. Now, in retirement, I even forget which one is Monday.   I never partied late and my Sundays were as exciting as Mondays or Thursdays. The evening routine never varied from mundane to boring. Lights out at 10 pm was the motto.   Regardless, the thought of Monday made me nervous and anxious on Sunday evenings. I would fret and fidget from Sunday afternoon. I would lie out my clothes for Monday, pack and repack a business bag that contained nothing.   Arriving at the office on Monday mornings was always like mourning, double Espresso notwithstanding. I resented any meetings before 12 noon. I always blamed British rulers for not having clubbed Monday with Saturdays and Sundays as a holiday.   The prospect of traveling on Mondays excited me. This would enable me to skip work and head streng...