Tuesday morning had that crisp, washed-clean quality that only comes after a proper storm. The air was clear with a promise of a clear pale blue sky to come.  Everything looked freshly scrubbed by yesterday's rain. 5:30 AM, and the calm after the storm made the routine feel somehow more peaceful.

The robin was back in the silver birch, singing its heart out with the kind of enthusiasm that suggested it was pleased to have survived the thunder and lightning. Its song filled the garden with bright, cheerful notes that made the morning feel properly optimistic.

I filled my glass with water and flicked on the kettle. Tuesday meant muesli, and I'd already cleaned the windows yesterday, so I could actually see clearly out into the garden for once. The difference was remarkable, it was like someone had adjusted the contrast on the world.

Looking through the freshly clean glass, I noticed the blinds were shut tight in our neighbour's kitchen. She was a nurse and should have been up hours ago, but she often took a day or two off after one of their rows. They always seemed to be arguing, those two. Well, we heard him shouting anyway, even over last night's thunder, his voice had carried across the gardens. We never heard her, which somehow made it worse.

The radio crackled to life as I poured the muesli into my bowl, and I caught the tail end of what sounded like an interview in progress.

"...so you're saying the squirrel attacked your sheep, stopped, then turned and gave you the middle finger. And you think that actually happened?" Gary's voice carried that particular tone of barely suppressed amusement.

"Yes, yes!" came an exasperated voice with a thick Essex accent. "I keep telling you, why doesn't anyone believe me?!"

"Okay, well, thanks Farmer Giles," Gary said, clearly trying to wrap up the interview before it got any more ridiculous.

"Well, moving swiftly on," Gary continued, his voice bubbling with barely contained laughter. "DJ G-Raff here, and I'm still chuckling about that farmer and his delinquent squirrel! I mean, I'm sure this isn't made up, but is it? Has someone just thought this rubbish up for me to say? Paid that poor farmer to spin me a yarn about wildlife giving him the finger?"

I added milk to my cereal, listening to Gary's continued amusement. The shower was running upstairs - Dave was up and following his usual routine.

"I mean, seriously folks, Farmer Giles was not best pleased that I found his aggressive squirrel story hilarious. But come on! It was just ridiculous! How do you not laugh at that?"

Gary's voice shifted gear as he moved on. "Anyway, let's get to the phone lines! We have Brian from Hockley on the line. Brian, my good sir, how can we help you today?"

There was a scoff audible over the radio, followed by a gruff voice: "Can you play 'God Save the Queen' by Sex Pistols?"

The line went dead with an audible click. Brian had clearly hung up rather than engage in any further conversation with Gary.

"Oh!" Gary's voice perked up considerably. "Now we're talking! Absolutely quintessential punk, that one. Raw, chaotic, unforgettable guitar riff!"

The opening riff started up, aggressive and immediate. I reached for the radio dial, I'd heard quite enough punk rebellion for one Tuesday morning.

I prepared my coffee and moved to the table just as the footsteps started down the stairs. Dave appeared in the doorway looking fresh from his shower, his zebra onesie somehow managing to look almost respectable in the morning light. In his hands was a tall glass of what appeared to be orange juice, garnished with a perfectly cut slice of pineapple.

Where the hell he'd got fresh pineapple from was beyond me. I was fairly certain we didn't have any in the house, and it certainly wasn't the sort of thing Dave would think to buy. Yet there it was, floating in his orange juice like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He sat down across from me, took a sip of his tropical drink, and gazed out at the singing robin for a moment. He had the all too familiar look on his face, another morning shower philosophy was about to make its appearance.

"You know," Dave said, setting down his glass with the satisfied air of someone who'd just solved one of life's great mysteries, "I like to think people who think they're the main character have no idea how boring their life actually is. I mean, I wouldn't want to watch someone take a dump every day, I get bored while I do mine."

I paused, spoon halfway to my mouth, muesli threatening to fall back into the bowl.

"What the fuck, Dave?!"