I went into the local shop on Monday morning just before 8.30a.m. I wasn’t sure if the shop was open as the only other person I could see was the breadman carrying in trays of bread and stacking it on the shelves. I gathered up a few things for breakfast and made my way to the checkout.
I saw the shop owner at the instore ATM machine. He indicated to me which checkout I should go to and said he’d be there in a minute. He walked up the shop aisle carrying a cup of coffee.
“Are you open yet?” I asked.
“We are open, I just have a few jobs to do to open up.”
“Ah yes, opening up jobs,” I say.
He proceeded to check my few groceries through.
I half heard him say something to me.
“What,” I said.
“There isn’t a minute gone out of tomorrow yet,” he said.
“Yes, that’s a good way of putting it.”
I was thinking about that phrase as I walked back to my car when another rather dishevelled looking man who was walking towards me said;
“How’s your daughter now?”
“Grand, she’s grand,” I said, slightly confused.
“That’s good,” he said smiling.
I don’t have a daughter. He’d mistaken me for someone else.
But I felt better for the two encounters and I got into my car all the happier because they had given me something to think about and before long I was making up a story in my head; what if I did have a daughter how different my life would have been and how there isn’t a minute gone out of tomorrow yet. In fact, there isn’t a minute gone out of this afternoon yet. And something inside me opened up and the day spread out in front of me long and luxurious like a Sunday morning lie in and it was only 8.30a.m. on a Monday.