I spent my second night in the new place. There is very little there at the moment. Upstairs I have an airbed and some of the belongings I took there. In the front room is the foulest, most disease-ridden-looking armchair I've ever seen. Well never mind. At least it's something to sit on, and it'll be gone by the time I move in (I hope). Last night I picked through Jenny Uglow's marvellous biography of the painter Hogarth. Again I was too busy thinking to take much notice of it. Again I really enjoyed being left in peace. I feel that I am no longer sharing my home with whichever antisocial neighbours I get saddled with.
I slept very well again and made my way home later on this morning. It's funny; when I got there I felt like an intruder. I was so uncomfortable that I rushed to get out of the place. In my mind, the new place is my real home now.
This morning I think I saw the last of that awful Chinese takeaway from two nights ago. All day yesterday my bowels were like Krakatoa. They have finally calmed down again. Last night I tried the local chippy. That was very good indeed, and much cheaper. Tonight I might eat out for a change, provided I don't change my mind by dinnertime.
No comments:
Post a Comment