This is another work in progress with only the first three chapters completed but more shall be added soon. The work is losely based on myself with a lot of my own thoughts and experiences included. I've tried to write about funny situations familiar to all of us with my own comic style and observations injected into it. To describe this story simply I'd say it is a week in the life of a twenty something. 

“Good morning, it’s 7:30 and you’re tuned into…” The announcer’s voice is silenced as I fumble around to turn off my alarm. Arms flailing all over the place, I manage to knock the half empty glass of water off of my desktop, showering my carpet with it’s contents. It needed a clean anyway. My eyes still closed, I lay here, still pondering over whether or not to turn over and gain a few more moments precious sleep.  I open one eye, almost scared of what visions may surround me. But as the misty image of my room comes into focus, I discover that it is just as I left it several hours earlier. Still untidy and just as dark, the air a little more stale perhaps, or the dust building up on top of the television a little deeper, but on the whole it’s still the same room. The clock now reads 7:33am and I know that now is the time to get up or my body will make all the usual excuses and cease to work, going back into relax mode, rendering me powerless and with no choice but to go back to sleep. 

                    Now getting ready for work in the morning is an art. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Only a fool would get up hours before they are due in at work. With much practice and dedication I have managed to get my time down to just fourteen and a half minutes between getting out of bed and leaving the house. Obviously that means cutting a few corners. A splash of water and one quick spray of deodorant now suffice. Of course if I got up twenty minutes earlier I could have afforded myself the luxury of a shower. But if it’s a choice between standing in a tiny cubicle and getting covered in cold water, the spray barely spanning wide enough to cover an anorexic baby worm, or lying wrapped up in my duvet dead to the world, I’m sorry but I’m going to choose the later every single time. I introduce the toothbrush to my teeth, it’s only a quick meeting, while simultaneously catching my reflection in the bathroom mirror for the first time today. I had definitely seen better days, and unless the stubbly unkempt look, bordering on homeless vagrant, had now come into fashion in a big way, this wasn’t going to be an acceptable condition for me to leave the house in. I took out my razor, reuniting it with my rough cheeks for the first time in three days, and thirty seconds, three cuts and a blade change later, I looked a new man. Or at least less like a homeless person who someone had just relieved themselves on. Mission one accomplished; it was now time to deal with the hair. This was not something that bothered me hugely as for the last few weeks I had actually gone to quite some trouble trying to maintain the rough appearance that gives everyone around you the impression that you have just fallen out of bed. All it required was a handful of styling wax and a bit of patience as I ruffled my hair in every direction, finally settling on a style that looked like I had been dragged through a rather large bush backwards.

                    With the grooming now over I now have to decide what to wear for the day. Not an easy decision to make by any means. Pushed for time I settle on an old grey hooded jumper and some ripped jeans. Happy that I’ve made it with a whole minute to spare, I slip on my trainers and race down the stairs picking up my bag on the way. I then walk into the kitchen, turning to switch on the television as I enter. As the picture fills the screen the familiar breakfast news desk comes into focus and I’m just in time to hear the morning’s headlines.

“Ring!” my attention is drawn away from the television momentarily, startled by the phone that’s just come to life. Who could be ringing at this time? It can’t be for me. Nobody expects me to be in at this time of morning. I come to the conclusion that it must be for someone else and turn back to the television. “Ring!” It persists but I still refuse to answer. “Ring!” Finally I hear cluttering about upstairs and the phone is finally answered. I go back to watching the headlines for the third time. “Dan, pick up the phone” a familiar voice shouts in my direction from her position at the top of the stairs. A certain annoyance in her voice. I oblige and pick up the handset.

                    “Hello?” There’s a long pause and some static before my greeting is answered. “Hi! Just phoning you to let you know I’m going to be late.” Steve’s solemn voice echoes in my ear and I find myself asking the same question I ask every other morning. Usually followed by the same answer. “Late night, again was it?” feigning a hint of concern. Like I really care. “Yeah, ‘fraid so. Then my alarm didn’t go off this morning” I hold back a laugh. Funny that. Maybe something to do with the fact that he hasn’t had any batteries in the damn thing for the last three years. I find myself getting angry now and decide to wrap up the conversation before it’s even got underway. I get straight to the point. “Okay, how long do you need?” there’s a long pause at the other end and I know what he’s thinking. Maybe he can get a few extra winks in before coming in. “Er, ‘bout twenty minutes should do it”. I’m impressed. I multiply that number by about four to get a more accurate idea of how long he’ll be. I’m still impressed as at least I can expect him to show up sometime before lunch. Usually I’d be lucky if I saw him again that week. I reply with a brief grunt then put down the phone. I’ve now missed all the headlines and they are just finishing the weather report. What a surprise – rain!

                    I now decide that there’s no rush as I’d only be turning up to an empty office, so I decide I can spare myself another twenty minutes and make myself some breakfast, a bit of a rarity for me these days as my tight schedule in the mornings restricted me and I had cut it out to give me an extra five minutes in bed. An extra five minutes I was always very thankful for up until about 11:00am when the hunger usually started to kick in and I found myself wishing I had grabbed a bite to eat.

                    I opened up the cupboard and scanned the shelves. Bran Flakes, Frosties, some cheap supermarket rip off-of coco pops and some Weetabix. I opted for the supermarket rip-off and sat down to enjoy my first breakfast for quite a while. I took my first mouthful and as I chewed my eyes fell on the cereal box, my eyes wondering over every word, reading all the ingredients and nutritional information. Then I sat up and thought about it. When do people ever actually read this stuff? Why has it come to this, that I have nothing better to do than read the back of a packet? I pondered over this question for several seconds trying to recall another moment in my life where I had been reduced to something so boring. It is a fact that the only time people ever read anything on a cereal packet is when they are either totally bored or actually eating the cereal. I couldn’t quite imagine a child or anyone else for that matter thinking to themselves, “Hmm, I think I’ll pick up a good book. Actually no. That’s not stimulating enough. I know, I think I’ll read a cereal packet instead.” It just doesn’t happen does it? I read it anyway:

Ingredients: Wheat, flour, Sugar,

Whole Wheat, cocoa powder,

Milk chocolate (3�(with Emulsifier:

       Soya Lechithin), Whey Powder”      

This was interesting stuff and I felt so much better for knowing it. I could just imagine appearing on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and hearing “Now for the million pound question, which of the following is an ingredient of coco pops? Is it a) popcorn, b) vodka c) Chicken, or d) Milk chocolate with Emulsifier?” If only life was that kind. After coming back to reality it suddenly occurred to me that this cereal wasn’t actually that nice and the best place for it really was in the bin. I scraped the remaining contents out of the bowl into the bin and placed the now empty bowl into the dishwasher. I’d figure out how to actually use one of those another time. I had far more pressing issues for now.  The thought did cross my mind to waste a bit more time and actually wash it up myself in the sink but I realised I really couldn’t be bothered.  Even that demands too much thought at this time of the morning. I looked at the clock. It was now 7:58am. Steve had asked for another twenty minutes but I wasn’t about to be that generous. I decided that I would go and pick him up now and if he wasn’t ready then tough. So grabbing my coat, I headed towards the front door.

                    “Bye! Have a good day. See you tonight!”  I shouted upstairs. I paused and waited but no reply. She’d obviously gone back to bed. Lucky for some. The front door slammed behind me and as I made my way towards my car, the cold winter’s air surrounded me, hugging my torso from all sides, like razor sharp blades from every direction. “Well at least it’s not bloody cold out” I thought to myself sarcastically as I got into my car, turning up the heaters to full blast.

I put the key into the ignition and turned it, bringing the car to life. It coughed and spluttered for several seconds before settling on a satisfactory humming sound. As I prepared to drive off it suddenly hit me that I couldn't actually see a damn thing. Staring at my windscreen I could see it was covered with ice blocking my view, and after three failed attempts at clearing it with my windscreen wipers I decided I now had no choice but to get out and scrape it off by hand. Not an option I particularly favoured but as I mulled through the alternatives it occured to me I didn't actually have any. I could sit here and wait for the sun to come out and melt the ice but I couldn't actually see that happening this side of christmas. 
                    I reached across and opened up the glove compartment. Immediately several objects spilled out, desperate for freedom, depositing themselves on the floor. I seem to have a gift for cramming as many objects as possible into the smallest of spaces, my glove compartment being the perfect example. I straigned to reach for one of the objects that had slipped under the passenger seat. It was a Homer Simpson air freshner, the fragerance long since departed, now reduced to just being a plastic model of a popular cartoon character stuffing his face. Completely useless. I shoved it back into the glove compartment anyway along with the other objects which had long since served their purpose and had been forgotten, laying scattered over the car floor. Among them was an old key chain with 'I heart New York' printed acoss it. Having never actually visited New York myself I was prepared to take their word for it, not really willing to sport it at the end of my key chain. So into the glove compartment that went. Next I found a couple of old tapes, both with my incoherent handwriting scrawled across them. I placed them back into their home and finally reached for the blue ice scraper wedged right in the back of the small yet over-crowded compartment. It wasn't there! Great, what now? I opened up my bag and rummaged through it, searching for anything that might substitute for my missing scraper. The best I could come up with was a small 30-centimetre plastic ruler. That would have to do.
                    I turned the heating right up so it was now on full blast and preparing to brave the outside again I opened the car door. Once again the strong winter winds rushed in to greet me, enveloping me. As I struggled to close the door behind me a white Cavalier pulled up infront of my car. I recongnised it as that of the postman's. Sure enough the postman got out and gave a nod in my direction. I returned the gesture and then turned back to the car. Taking the ruler out I proceeded to scrape the remaining ice off the windscreen, successfully managing to cover both my sleeves in ice as I did so. I immediately felt the ice soak through to my shirt underneath, causing me to shudder. Finally I managed to clear the majority of the ice off, and happy that I could now continue, I got back into the car.
                     The inside of the car was now nice and warm. Quite a contrast to the bleak winter weather outside. I turned my lights on and then checked my mirror to see if it was clear for me to pull out. The street was deserted other than a few parked cars here and there, all covered under a blanket of ice as mine had been. After one final check I pulled out of my parking position and drove off, slowing down to give way to the postman, now just leaving number 6 and crossing over.
                    I turned on the stereo bored of the silence, and was immediately greeted by a female voice kindly informing me of the many traffic jams and accidents that were taking place. All of which no doubt would be on my route to work, specially crafted to further aggravate me and hinder my journey even more so. I changed the station only to find a similar report . This time the voice belonging to a stern sounding male who had clearly had too much caffeine this morning. I flicked through three more stations, all of which seemed to contain a similar content. All without music. With one more station left on my pre-programmed radio I tried it, this time hitting the jackpot. I was instantly transported back to the seventies courtesy of Magic FM, and was greeted by the sound of some guy playing his heart out on a saxaphone no doubt sporting an afro, a pair of dodgy oversized sunglasses and a sparkly gold jacket to boot. Remembering my earlier discovery I opened up my glove compartment again, rummaging around with my left hand desperately trying to find one of the cassettes I had discarded earlier. My hand finally fell upon one of them and I slotted it into the machine. "I'll be there 'til the sun don't shine, 'til the heavens ......" Bon Jovi's voice bellowed out of the speakers. So that's where the tape had got to. I had recorded it several years ago after seeing the group in concert, obviously never giving it a second thought since. Fond memories of the concert flooded back to me, thousands of people jumping up and down, waving their hands around erraticaly all convulging, seemingly in one joint epileptic fit. Then there was me sitting down with my feet up over the seat in front, never one to over-exert myself unneccesarily. I could never see the point in standing at a concert when there were perfectly good seats right behind you. Typical of me really. I always opted for the comfortable way. I remembered being one of the first to get to the stadium for the concert, and as we walked in my friend running right towards the front. "C'mon, we can be right at the front. We'll have a wicked view" He shouted. I thought about it for a second but never moved. "Nah, let's stay at the back. It's going to be a long concert and we can sit down if we stay here" I shouted back. Perfectly good reasoning I thought. "Do you really want to be standing up for three hours and crushed in around all those sweaty people waving their arms around?" I asked. Silly question. "Well that is the reason we paid 35 quid to come and see them isn't it?" I had to admit he had a good point but I wasn't about to give in. "Well I'd prefer to be comfortable for that amount of money. You go to the front and I'll grab a seat back here" I said. "You old man! Fine we'll stay here then" he submitted dissapointedly. "You know it makes sense son" I replied. Adam always gave in eventually. Or maybe it he just knew that there was never any point trying to persuade me. I was too stubborn. It wasn't the first time I had been called an "old man" either. I think most of my friends think of me as 23 going on 60 with the way I act sometimes. They are probably right too. If everything does go according to plan I should be going to collect my pension by next Tuesday. You see I have a very different outlook on life. Let me give you an example. I won't go to the pub unless I know there will be somewhere to sit. I have no desire to pay an extortionate proce for a pint and then be expected to stand in a corner to drink it. Oh no, I expect a nice comfortable seat to sit in. Preferably by a roaring fire. If I go out to a restaurant I expect the music to be at a decent level. Not blazing out of all corners of the room distracting me from my conversation. Call me old fashioned, it's just the way I am.
                    My attention was drawn back to the road infront as I was engulfed by the red glow of the brake lights eminating from the car in front, and just about every other car in front of that stretching off into the distance. Damn, I should have listened to those traffic reports.