Sunday morning felt oddly subdued. The sky was dull with a light covering of clouds that made everything seem darker than it should be, though it wasn't threatening enough to ruin the whole day. There was a greyness to the light that made the kitchen feel more enclosed, more intimate somehow.

I could hear the robin singing somewhere in the garden, its cheerful notes drifting through the window, but I couldn't actually see it anywhere. Perhaps it was hidden deep in the silver birch, or maybe it had found a new favourite spot altogether, at least I knew he was around.

I filled my glass with water and flicked on the kettle. Sunday so a full English - the works. The shower was already running upstairs, which struck me as odd. Dave was up and about as if it were his normal Monday routine, not a lazy Sunday morning. Strange, usually he would only be aroused from his bed by the smell of food or me making it.

The radio crackled to life as I started the bacon and sausages in the large frying pan.

"In local news," Gary's voice carried its usual morning brightness, "the Reverend Brian Brains made headlines yesterday after delivering a lengthy sermon about the approaching asteroid. He spoke about how God works in mysterious ways, how prayer would help in these dark times, and how we should use this time for reflection, making peace with all those we have wronged, mending long-lost relationships. Rather poetically, he then walked out from the church and was immediately hit by a funeral procession. He's now recovering in hospital with a broken clavicle."

Gary paused, and you could practically hear the mischief in his voice. "I didn't even know he played one!"

There was an uncomfortable silence before Gary seemed to stumble over his words, as if he was getting an earful from someone off-mic.

"Right, well... sorry about that... didn't mean to... yes, Kate, I know it's not... look, can we just... sorry, listeners, having a bit of a technical... Kate, please, I was just..."

His voice was getting more flustered by the second, stumbling over words, clearly being dressed down by his producer. But then, like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man.

"Oh! We have a caller! Thank God... I mean, thank goodness. We have Neha from Runwell on the line. Neha, how are you this morning?"

"Hi Gary!" came a sweet, genuinely warm voice. "I just wanted to say how funny you are. You always make me laugh on my way to work."

Gary's entire demeanour changed instantly, the stumbling forgotten. "Well, thank you, Neha. That's very kind of you to say."

"You make even Monday mornings bearable."

"Aww, that's... that's really lovely to hear. You've just made my day, actually."

"Have I? Good!" she laughed, and there was something genuinely delighted in her voice. "I was hoping I would."

"So what can I do for you today, Neha?"

"Just be you," she replied, and there was something in her voice that made it almost awkward to listen to, it was obvious Neha was a bit sweet on Gary, and Gary was clearly enjoying every second of it.

"Well, that's easy enough! But seriously, what can I play for you?"

"Play for me? Or play for you?" she asked playfully.

"Hard to get, are we?" Gary chuckled, his voice warm with amusement.

"Maybe just a little," she said, and you could practically hear her smiling.

There was a pause, then Gary's voice softened considerably. "Alright then, what song can I actually play for you, Neha?"

"Well, you once said your favourite song is 'Don't Stop Me Now' by Queen. I remember because I thought it suited you perfectly, all that energy and enthusiasm. So I'll have that. For you."

"Oh, Neha..." Gary's voice was practically glowing with pleasure. "You remembered that? You are my knight in shining headphones! Here's Queen, and this one's definitely for you too!"

You could just catch Gary saying "stay on the phone" as the familiar piano opening began to play.

I found myself breathing deeply, taking in the rich smells of the fry-up cooking, and before I knew it, I was dancing around the kitchen to the music, setting the table - knives, forks, plates, salt, pepper... wait, where was the top of the salt pot?

I stared at the topless salt shaker for a moment, wondering where on earth the lid could have gone and how I was supposed to salt my breakfast now. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I grabbed a teaspoon from the drawer and placed it next to the salt on the table. It would have to do.

I'd just finished plating everything up when Dave appeared in the doorway, looking fresh and alert despite it being Sunday morning. He carried what appeared to be a glass of thick, red tomato juice, not exactly what I'd expect someone to drink first thing in the morning, but then Dave's beverage choices had long since stopped surprising me.

He sat down across from me, took a sip of his juice, and gazed out at the garden where the robin's song continued from its hidden perch. His eyes had that all too familiar look that meant I was about to suffer his Sunday morning philosophy.

"You know," Dave said, setting down his glass with the satisfied air of someone who'd just solved a major geopolitical puzzle, "I like to think ants rule the world but let us live as we haven't annoyed them enough yet. But soon they will rise up one day and kill us all."

I shook my head and looked at him.

"What the fuck, Dave."