I am sitting in my freezing bedroom, where everything that stands still long enough develops a rash of mildew, wearing a long jumper and a long cardigan. This is currently the hub of the house because the TV is gone, and my books are packed. Life is channelled to and from me through this monitor. I may need gloves. I lost the Lost Property ones last winter. I pray to the patron saint of Eurostar that it does not snow over the next month.
The more I get rid of, the more this looks like a squat that Pete Doherty would scorn. The more I pack, the more I wonder if I actually need any of it. Right now I'd be quite happy to leave with my duvet and the computer. And some spare pants and socks. That makes me sound like a boy. Beyoncé certainly didn't mention that in her song.
As it gets exquisitely colder and I get nearer check-in and check-out there are so many feelings. One day I might be able to talk about it, or I might just forget it. For now it's a knot and will have to stay a knot. One day soon I might be too distracted by karaoke with a bunch of new chums to remember.