I spent all yesterday hiding because I had another piece in the Mail. Whatever you write, whatever the photos look like, however controversial or non-controversial a piece you write, having a piece in the Mail always makes you feel like this is you:
Anyway so I hid at home, only venturing out in a hat and sunglasses and didn’t look at Twitter.
I spent most of my time helping little Sam to blow his nose, as he seems to have caught another cold on top of the two he’s just had in succession. I’m taking him to the doctor on Wednesday. It’s not normal to have a cough and a cold for 6 weeks, is it? Maybe his adenoids have grown back? Is that even possible.
And I’ve given up coffee. I’ve never really, just between you and me, liked it that much. But I felt compelled to “have a coffee” and sort of half-enjoyed that mashed-off-your-face, clench-teethed thing you get from it.
Until I decided that I didn’t. And, further, that it was neither integral to my day, my state of mind or my personality to drink coffee. In terms of a pick me up on an under slept day, tea works fine. And tea doesn’t send me into a foot-tapping, nattering, tooth-licking neurotic spiral.
It’s been like realising that, actually, you hate you boyfriend and ought to get rid of him. Or that you don’t like dancing and don’t ever want to do it in public again. Or that, in fact, Diet Coke is rank.