when wendigo pushes deadlines to their limit

And today all Westminster is grey. Misty vapours coil around tall buildings full of workspaces which are mostly empty; even God took a day off on Sabbath. Someone else must be abroad too, as the third floor has a few lights on – it’s the archaeology hottie’s boss. Non sequitir. The window at the end of the corridor frames a dirty little courtyard – no smokers there today.
Helicopters stand still noisily in the strangely luminescent sky ceiling; maybe there are protesters in Parliament Square? A glider hangs on a wing for a long moment, then dips away. The low clouds are moving fast, and the rain drips on. Drip slush flow, on parapets, down walls, through gutters, into drains, underground, then it leaves this city and travels onwards to the sea.
A dinner invitation on the phone. Sigh… oh report, don’t be stubborn.