7.30am Sunday morning. Two coffees and a doughnut. Just dropped the girls off for swimming club and looking forward to reading, writing, catching up on mail for an hour or so. Except that someone's in MY chair. MY chair. The one I always sit in. The one I look forward to sitting in. In the corner, view of the pool, the ideal spot with enough noise to help me concentrate. It's not right, I'm here every bloody Saturday and Sunday morning. It's my chair and she's in it. Even worse she looks really comfortable, smug too, ear phones in, working on something, looks like she might be a teacher or something, doing something with scissors and got a plastic bag full of stuff. This is a disaster, this means she is dug in. It's MY chair. I stare hard at her but she's not looking. Fucking people.