Liverpool from the 13h floor.

Today I had an appointment with a financial adviser to see why my pittance of a private pension is not scheduled to start until my 99th birthday, according to my latest statement. It may not be worth much, but I would like it before then, thank you very much, especially as it is not classed as part of my estate, so anything left over will not go to my family. The answer of course is "computers". This is quite ironic really, as the office I was in was in the same building where I worked for 17 years as a systems developer on, yes, computers. It was even the same floor, 13, although the whole building has been massively refurbished since I left 28 years ago, 3 kids (then) being too much to juggle with full-time work, and in those unenlightened days no flexi- or part-time options. The whole setup was really male-dominated back then.
At first I thought the reflections of the office and the photographer(!), and the rain on the windows, spoiled the view, in which several famous landmarks are visible, but then I thought this is my journal, not a postcard, and it represents my day.
Massive aggro trying to sort out stuff at the building society and the bank, where you now have to queue for ages to see a real person. The intermittent torrential rain showers didn't help my mood (no brolly of course), but at least I managed to sort a few things out and equally importantly stock up on M&S underwear to take back next week. I had hoped to see some of the Biennial artwork around the city, but the weather and mental exhaustion defeated that ambition - maybe another day.