Sunday morning was bright and clear, but the breeze was stronger than I would have liked. The silver birch was swaying more than usual, its branches bending and flexing in the gusts that kept rolling through the garden. It made everything feel a bit unsettled, as if the world couldn't decide whether it wanted to be calm or restless.

The robin was bobbing along the lawn in its usual fashion, pecking here and there at whatever small treasures the grass might hold. But when it took flight, I wasn't entirely sure it flew off in quite the direction it had planned, the wind seemed to catch it mid-flight, pushing it slightly off course toward the fence.

I filled my glass with water and flicked on the kettle. Sunday meant a full English, the works. I started the bacon and sausages, but there were no sounds of life from upstairs. Dave was clearly having one of his deeper Sunday lie-ins.

"Breakie is on!" I shouted up the stairs.

There was a groan from above, followed by what sounded unmistakably like Dave falling out of bed with a considerable thump.

The radio crackled to life as I cracked eggs into the pan alongside the bacon and sausages, and Gary's voice carried the kind of gravity usually reserved for state occasions.

"The news this morning is dominated by His Majesty's message to the nation. The King has asked that the British people do as they do best; keep calm and carry on. Despite being faced with a threat the likes of which our race has never seen, it has caused all humans to come together as one to work toward survival, and God willing, it will succeed."

Gary paused, and I found myself thinking he was probably restraining himself from doing his King Charles impression, which he'd used in the past. It probably wouldn't have been in the best taste under the circumstances.

"In other news," Gary continued, "the penultimate games of the Premier League season are today. All matches were held back due to recent events, but they've agreed to proceed today, with the final games scheduled for May 25th as planned. The FA Cup Final, which had been postponed, will now go ahead on June 1st."

Gary's voice dropped to a more personal, serious tone, "Ladies of Essex, I have some sad news that'll upset you and break your hearts. I'm seeing someone. Yes, the G-Raff is off the market and in a serious relationship. I'm sorry, but my heart now belongs to Neha. You may remember her, she rang in last week. We met up and have been seeing each other every day since. She is totally amazing, and I'm one hell of a lucky guy! Neha, I know you're listening, this is for you."

The opening notes of "Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours" by Stevie Wonder began to play, and I found myself nodding my head to the intro. But as Gary started singing along with it, I reached for the radio dial and turned it off.

Looking out the window, my eye caught a rather large Super Soaker sitting on the garden table, ready for action. The war with the neighbor's cat was clearly escalating, Dave had ordered up the big guns.

I'd just finished plating up the full English when Dave appeared in the doorway, looking like he hadn't had the greatest night's sleep. His zebra onesie was on, but only pulled up to his waist, causing the zebra head to bobble around his groin area in a way that looked somewhat odd, to say the least.

He slumped into his chair, carrying what appeared to be his usual coffee cup, though the strong smell of whiskey that wafted across the table suggested it contained considerably more than just a strong coffee.

He took a careful sip of his fortified espresso and gazed out at the swaying birch tree.

"You know," Dave said, setting down his whiskey-laced coffee with the satisfied air of someone who'd just solved a major classical literature puzzle, "I like to think Oedipus is up there thinking, 'Hey, I have some other redeeming qualities, man.'"

I was taken aback that Dave actually knew who Oedipus was, but shook my head and said, "What the fuck, Dave!"