it's a kind of magic

Mat was up bright and early the other day. I thought he must have work to do, but when I got downstairs he was lying under the bedclothes watching Seven on DVD. Which struck me as a rather unwholesome way to begin the day. ‘I’m going to do this every morning!’, he vowed. He meant watch a DVD, not necessarily Seven. That would have worried me.

He hasn’t, of course. The next day he was recovering from a night in Sam’s. So was I, although I didn’t go. I was merely woken up by the revellers’ return. To be fair to them, they were very concerned about waking me up. I know because they expressed these concerns, loudly, at the time.

Dave has moved in, so we are now a unit. A unit of what, I dread to think. At least Mat will have someone to talk about IP addresses with. They’re so digital and I’m so analogue. Soon the house will be full of invisible technology and you won’t be able to cough without turning the kettle on. Or so I imagine. Already there is a robot voice announcing the time every quarter hour. I daren’t ask.