Putting the kettle on.

I opened the porch door and stepped out onto the garden path, bottle in hand, craning my neck back to look at the dull glow that is the night sky in London, and tried to pull calm into my lungs with the cool night air. For a moment, I was angry with myself, with the situation I'd let myself into.

Didn't quite get the grade I wanted. Didn't quite find work with the agency my sister was employed at. Job interview that day which didn't quite feel like it had gone well... If my life was more like a noir detective novel, something along the lines of Raymond Chandler, I'd have taken world-weary drag on my cigarette, wiped my hands on my apron and dropped the bottle in the glass bin, before heading inside to finish the washing up. For a second, the urge to blow off some steam washed up against the edges of my mind - Lob the bottle into the street; go on, really give it some welly and watch it soar through the air. Listen to the slight song it hums as it turns in a beautiful arc, the almighty crash it makes against the tarmac.

I shook myself. I don't live in the 1920s. I don't smoke and the apron I was wearing was an oil cloth decorated with a large Welsh crest. I shook my head clear of the wool I'd been gathering and headed indoors.

Four weeks and I'm still unemployed - I know I shouldn't complain, that many have been looking for much longer than that, but after weeks of rushing around sorting exams, rent rebates, packing and seeing friends at the last possible minute, these empty days are starting to get to me. I woke up this morning resigned to another day of tedium, job hunting and odds end ends of DIY, all under the pervasive mugginess of clouds that seems to have soaked my neighbourhood for days now. What's more, there was no sugar for my tea. After walking along the high street for a packet of Tate and Lyle and some fresh air, I put the kettle on.

Something in me relaxed.

Sugar flowed into the tin with a calm hiss.

The kettle boiled, and I tipped a little water into the pot with one hand, the other removing the lid and setting it onto the counter.

My shoulders unwound slightly.

Scoop the teapot up with one hand, swirl the water once, twice, thrice and then tip it into the sink, while the other hand flicks the kettle onto boil again.

A kink in my neck I didn't even know was there eased itself straight.

Tea from the caddy into the warmed pot, boiling water in with it, lid on, cosy on over the lot, caddy into the cupboard.

I stood there and brewed my tea.

There is Summer pudding in the fridge. There are brownies in the cupboard. My tea is brewing. The cloud is clearing.

Everything feels a bit calmer now.

Everything is going to be all right.