I agonised a bit at first, because really I should take the opportunity to visit city-dwelling chums. But then I thought: ‘No, blast them, I’m going back to the beach.’
I know that I’ve just had four days at home, but given the amount of time spent away on tour this year, it’s a no-brainer decision.
Also, four days only made a small dent in the postal in-tray; my poor little abode was, and in a sense still is, buckling under the sheer magnitude of mail. Don’t assume that I mean fan mail from blog readers. Oh, you weren’t.
Yes, you were right the first time: letters from banks, the council tax office and telephone companies. It’s never-ending of course; I pop out on tour for just three months, and banking concerns – by phone to Delhi – have rather stacked up again. So, to finish what I’ve started, I’m in Hastings.
Ah, the joys of domesticity. Now that my ex-girlfriend has moved out – known affectionately as The Old Boiler, or The Gargoyle if you prefer a less derogatory pet name – there is a serious catering issue in this house. She was invaluable in culinary matters, and I miss her sorely when I’m home. My tummy certainly does. We do, however, remain firm friends.
Selfishly, Boiler turned down my offer of a winter contract, just when I needed her most. Women are so blooming complex, aren’t they?
Fancy not wanting to be my girlfriend just to get me through the chilly months. To my utter surprise – when the nights began to draw in – she didn’t even consider the alluring contract, even after six years together. Oh, well.
Actually, I’m not sure that I should admit to being unable to cook; buying all the wine and living with attractive women is maybe only a short-term solution. But I’ll soldier on until an alternative presents itself.
Oh, and I must say, I’m finding this idea of ironing clothes a little irksome. For a start, I’m ironing in the creases into a shirt marked ‘non-iron’. What the hell are all these dials? Boiler, help..
Having opened a personal window into my life – introducing you to the Old Boiler – I thought maybe you’d also be interested in my car. She’s of a similar vintage, actually. And this performance Citroen AX has a full, throaty one-litre under the bonnet.
She shakes a bit above that and, in top gear (fourth), she’s a bit noisy, so sixty-five is more practical. I suppose I should have quoted these high speeds in kilometres per hour – to make them sound even more impressive..