Home alone.

It’s very unusual for me to face the prospect of a weekend entirely without plans. I guess this is the complacency/luxury of having a boyfriend or girlfriend- you can put very little (or no) thought into what you might do whilst safe in the assumption that you can do nothing with your someone by your side.

This weekend Steve is venturing up to Leeds to spend some quality time with his newly single best friend Rob. I imagine their weekend will consist of plentiful beer drinking, high brow sporting discussions and a handful of ogling thrown in for good measure. I on the other hand got to mid week and suddenly panicked that I had nothing to do, and all my friends seem to be heading off somewhere or other. Eeek.

You may have gathered, being left on my own for more than 2 hours is about as palatable as a 30 day old prawn recovered from a dustbin on a very sticky hot day. I’m the kind of person who if left alone for more than 24 hours would probably end up rocking back and forth and staring blankly at the wall. It’s torturous. Don’t get me wrong, a rare evening on the sofa doing nails or hair is bliss but only if basking in the aftermath of some serious socialising. Two nights of nothing on the trot and I start to feel like a social outcast, any more and I fear I’d lose the power to communicate. I’d become one of those forest people, crawling on all fours, howling and cocking my leg. Shudder.

Thankfully tonight, I’m armed with a hangover so all I’m going to manage is a couple of drinks and then some serious sofa time watching trashy re-runs which normally wouldn’t be tolerated. Perhaps Steve going away isn’t so bad after all.

What’s the betting it all gets extremely out of hand whilst I’m away from his watchful eye and nurturing hand…