Isolation

I realise that over the festive period, I may have become a tad insular. Yesterday, was the first day I'd been out since Friday. I spent a shit load of money and then scampered back home. The City was packed with people, most of whom were grumpy and pushy. I was very glad to get home.

There apparently is a world outside my front door. I hear it hum when I go into my garden for a crafty smoke. I see it on the news: filled with angst and dire happenings. Mostly, however I'm content to potter around in the warmth and cosiness that is my home.

Today, I will have a visitor from The Outside. I will actually have to construct coherent sentences, offer tea, coffee and munchies. I'm not sure I remember how to be sociable. Talking to teenagers isn't the same. They're happy with simple language forms; if I point them to the cupboard and fridge, they leave me pretty well enough alone.

A visitor means I have to find my kitchen underneath the dirty dishes and pans. Not to mention the empty bottles, of which there are but a few. I'll have to clear an area where we can sit without having to look at cat hairs, crumbs and shavings of tobacco and the remnants of Boy's scratch card.

As it's warmed up a bit, I really should turn off the heating and open all the doors and windows, get some fresh air in. Let the smells of roasted duck, burnt chestnuts and teenage feet dissipate.

I think I'd better start with me though. Nothing says 'I'm happy to see you' more than being clean and dressed.