Space

I think I've been living on my own too long sometimes. Since the summer of 2004, I've been used to spending the vast majority of my free time on my own, and this is great for the most part. After all, I'm reluctant to interact with people at the best of times and living on your todd is a great way of controlling your environment, which is specially handy for an nervous chap such as myself.

What it can lead to, however, is a sense of high anxiety when I'm expecting a visitor, especially when it's the first time they've called round. Everything in my flat is arranged exactly to my requirements: sofa facing TV in the corner, stereo speakers facing sofa and handy amplifier acting as table to rest my bottle of beer on. Plughole nearby to keep the laptop going.

So when somebody comes round, it can upset the balance. It might not make sense to you unless you are the same but as always, the anticipation is worse than the actuality. Spend two hours fretting about somebody else flicking through your CDs, then you end up digging them out anyways when they say they haven't heard of Swell Maps. Paraylsed with fear in the seconds leading up to them ringing the doorbell, then shuffling around getting drinks and trying to act the good host minutes later.

Tonight it's the election, and I feel I should probably write something, if only to put my own feelings down for posterity, yet there's not much to say except I have a horrid, sickening feeling in my gut that the Tories will get in. If so, I will drink myself numb on Friday night and babble to myself about leaving the country.