16:43

I check in the gas box for a key. There’s nothing there. I ferret around through the cobwebs and dusty pipes for one. Nothing. I get the triangular meter key from my case and open up the electrics box. Nope. She forgot to leave one out for me. I message her. She is embarrassed. She’ll be back.

17:08

I have been waiting for a little while and have read a good chunk of my book. I decide to call my parents and talk about life.

18:23

My parents know how to keep talking. Or at least my mother does. It’s one of her most deadly skills. After talking at length with her and briefly with my dad, who had taken a short break from painting the door (a base white so that it could be later painted over in a slightly less white – he said he was too old for exciting colours), we hang up.

18:38

I head to the pub round the corner for a pint and a meal. It’s an expensive luxury. The man on the long bench next to me has a pint and a glass of wine in front of him. I wonder if they’re both for him, or if he’s waiting for someone. I order a ratatouille.

18:46

A pretty North American girl sits nearby. She waves her hands in the air. I look at her with bemusement. “Do you feel a draft?” she asks. I wave my hands too. “I didn’t, but I do now” I reply. She goes to sit somewhere else. I think she finds me stern. The two-drink man heads to the toilet with now nearly-empty wine glass. They were both for him.