Huddle

1. 5pm: I’m standing, cold, waiting for a bus, any bus will do, why did I pick this ridiculously optimistic jacket this morning? I have an end-of-the-week headache. There is a small cluster of very lively pensioners at the bus stop. It’s cold, I huddle closer, maybe they won’t notice and welcome me into the group, perhaps even talk to me? I like old people, because I can be polite to them and smile and they won’t think I’m a mental patient. In the shop window nearby, a sign proclaims ‘Cold cans’. Yes, I’m thinking, this is exactly what I’m having right now. Finally the 275 takes me home, where J is listening to Britney Spears and playing with a kitten. I look out for scribbled hearts, but he must have known I was coming. ‘Don’t you want to take barbiturates for your head? ‘ he asks. I hope he means paracetamol. Or perhaps he wants to kill me.

2. 7pm: it’s warm and I’m wearing fuzzy socks. Where do normal people find the energy to go out on Friday nights?