Tuesday morning had a completely different quality from yesterday's gloom. It seemed clear and bright, with some high clouds drifting lazily across an otherwise blue sky. The sun was breaking through over the house at the bottom of the garden, sending shafts of yellow and orange light streaming right into the kitchen, filling it with warm, golden hues that made everything feel more optimistic.

The robin was behaving oddly today, just sitting in the middle of the lawn doing absolutely nothing. No pecking, no hopping, no apparent purpose whatsoever. After a few moments of this inexplicable loitering, it suddenly took flight and disappeared toward the silver birch.

I filled my glass with water and flicked on the kettle. Tuesday meant muesli, and I was looking forward to starting the day with something a bit more substantial than yesterday's cornflakes. The shower was running upstairs, Dave following his usual routine, no singing today.

I clicked on the radio as I poured the muesli into my bowl, catching what sounded like Gary reading the news.

"...and gaming fans are absolutely furious about the news that the latest Grand Theft Auto game has been pushed back to 2026. Considering fans have been waiting over a decade since GTA 5 was released back in 2013, this delay has caused quite the uproar online, with many pointing out that the world might be ending soon anyway!"

Gary's voice shifted from his news-reading tone to his usual presenter style. "Eleven years! Can you believe that? I remember playing GTA Vice City back in the day, thought I was so cool cruising around in those sports cars, and that's probably why I'm so cool today!"

There was a pause before a velvety, sultry voice cut through the radio, the first time I'd ever heard it.

"You're so not cool," came the voice, smooth as silk.

I found myself pausing mid-pour, struck by how surprisingly appealing the voice was. It had to be Kate, the producer, though I'd never heard her speak on air before. The contrast was remarkable, where Gary's voice often seemed grating and over-enthusiastic, hers was warm and genuinely attractive.

Before Gary could respond to Kate's put-down, the familiar theme from Grand Theft Auto 5 started playing.

"Oh, brilliant, Kate! Love how quick you are with that!" Gary's voice returned, clearly pleased with his producer's timing. The music began to fade as he continued. "Though it does remind me that GTA 5 came out oh so long ago, and oh, if I knew then what I know now, I wouldn't have wasted so much time playing that game online! Anyway, to the phones!"

I finished adding milk to my muesli, listening as Gary moved into his usual caller routine.

"We have Harry on the phone from Tolleshunt D'Arcy. Now that's a posh name, posh-sounding place, Harry, are you posh?"

"Wot, me? Posh? Nah!" came a distinctly Essex voice. "Ello Gary, you alright?"

"I'm good, Harry! How are you finding this Tuesday morning?"

"It's a lovely day today, innit?" Harry said, singing the words in a melodic way. "Tuesdays always are."

"That reminds me," Gary said with a chuckle, "there was this caller, Dave, I think it was, who rang in once pointing out that we don't actually know what day of the week it is. Someone just decided it's Tuesday and we all went along with it!"

I couldn't help but smirk at that. I wondered if it could have been my Dave, it certainly sounded like the sort of rubbish he would come out with.

"Too right!" Harry agreed. "Anyway, can I have 'Billericay Dickie' by Ian Dury and the Blockheads?"

"Absolutely, Harry. Here it is!"

The song started up with its distinctive rhythm, and I found myself shaking my head at the lyrics as I moved to the table. The song was crude and cheeky, and I was about to reach for the radio when one line caught my attention. As the singer mentioned something about rum and Ribena, I glanced up toward the neighbors' house and noticed an empty Ribena carton sitting on their windowsill.

I shrugged, figuring it must belong to their son. Nice kid, though I could never remember his name. I had a terrible habit of forgetting people's names, no matter how many times I was told them.

I turned off the radio and settled down to my breakfast just as Dave appeared in the doorway. He looked fresh and alert, carrying what appeared to be a small, elegant cup filled with dark, rich espresso. The aroma was intense and immediate, proper Italian-style coffee that seemed far too sophisticated for Dave.

He sat down across from me, took a careful sip of his espresso, and gazed out at the sunny garden.

"You know," Dave said, setting down his tiny cup with the satisfied air of someone who'd just solved an ancient mystery, "I like to think the first guy to ride a horse was just getting up there because he wanted to see over a tall hedge."

I looked across at him and simply said, "What the fuck, Dave."