Chapter 8 - Jim, Saturday

Another day wasted. I hadn’t meant to - I only got back into bed as it’s the comfiest place to read in the flat. I can barely manage ten minutes on that sofa before I start to fidget, and then I’ll make a cup of tea and before you know it the TV is on and the book has been abandoned. But not bed. Bed is safe, bed is cosy . Propped up on all the pillows, duvet pulled up to my chin, blinds open just enough for me to tell whether it’s day or night, answer machine on, bed is best!
But I honestly hadn’t intended to spend all day there. I’d slipped a coat over my pyjamas and nipped over the road for a pile of papers, planning to skim through them, get dressed and wander out to find some food. But once the coffee was brewed I spread the papers on the floor and before I knew it it was lunch time, and all I’d done was absorb information I could happily have lived without, about people I’ll never meet. The fact that it was a broadsheet newspaper didn’t disguise the fact that it was essentially trivia and gossip.
I might have still been there if the cat hadn’t come and sat on the paper, tired of hovering in the background trying to get my attention. Sat in the middle of the sports section I could hardly read round him, and he did have a point - it was time I fed us both. Smart though he likes to think he is, he’s not clever enough to get a tin of cat food open, so I do have my uses. Not many obviously, but this was one of them. So I scooped him up, endured the bout of face-licking that followed, an extra bribe clearly, just to make sure I complied with his wishes, and set off to find dinner.
He was in luck, even if I wasn’t - I opened a foul-smelling tin of something with turkey, then had a rummage through the cupboards for something for myself. The last of the bread had gone stale, and although I’m a bit lazy I do have my standards, so coat back on again and I headed over the road for bread, collecting chocolate and tobacco while I was there just in case I never made it out of the house again. And so I didn’t, well at least not yet, and at this time of night I’m unlikely to bother, although I guess a takeaway might not be a bad idea…

Cat fed, and my toast washed down with a lukewarm cup of coffee I sat on the sofa for a bit thinking about my day. In truth the options were endless - I didn’t have to be anywhere or meet anyone, the world was literally my oyster. But inevitably too much choice was paralysing. Can’t decide? Then don’t. There really was no need to leave the house, so I didn’t. I toyed with the idea of a little spliff, but it was too early in the day even for me, so I grabbed the chocolate and headed to bed to read.
It’s one of the things I’ve enjoyed about being on my own - you can read so much, and there’s no one to distract you. No one to frown at you as if to say, “shouldn’t you be washing up? Shouldn’t you be paying attention to me? Shouldn’t that light be off so I can sleep?” I guess a reader and a non-reader just can’t live happily together, like smokers and non-smokers - there’s a fundamental misunderstanding that can never be bridged. Maria could never work out why I stay up till 2am reading some book I was obsessed with, when I could be in bed with her gossiping about her friends. OK, that’s being a bit mean, but she wasn’t a big reader, preferring magazines about building your own home and classic cars to a novel. She’d always force herself to take whatever was popular at the time on holiday with her, but I ended up reading most of them while she swam and made friends with strangers. She had real stuff going on I guess, she didn’t need made up stuff.
But I’ll read anything - good, bad, stuff I’ve read before - bring it on! I’ve been haunting charity shops lately, habitually spending £5 on a random selection of books, with no expectation of them being any good, but every now and again I’ve found something that has made my head spin and then I’ve set off to find everything else that person has ever written. I guess it’s just another version of that blokey need to collect stuff, although, apart from failed relationships I haven’t really fallen into that trap: most of the books end up back in the charity shop, and music never really gripped me enough to collect Cds and stuff. At one time I had more suits than was really necessary, but fashions change and some of the fabric was starting to look a bit dated, so they’ve gone too. So when Maria took her stuff with her it all suddenly looked very empty. No wonder I’m hiding in bed, I don’t have to sit and look at the space where he stuff used to be.

Now it’s several hours later. I’m not sure what time it is as Maria took the alarm clock and I’ve been using my mobile to wake me up in the mornings. Judging from the light outside it’s after 10. It’s dark, but the moon is bright and the sky is clear.
I may have dozed for a bit, but I think I’ve pretty much been reading all afternoon. One novel down, one started, neither of them likely to become firm favourites, but both sufficiently entertaining to see me through to the end. But I should eat I guess - pity there’s no food in. God I wish that cat could cook! I can hardly face takeaway, and the decent shops will be shut. If I’m going to eat cheap microwave noodles I’m gonna have to get stoned first. I might as well, it’s not like anyone’s going to ring up now and drag me out - one people start thinking of you as a couple they stop asking you out, assuming you’ll be amusing yourselves and won’t want to mix with them anymore, and now I’m not it’s hard to get people to remember to ask. I know I could initiate stuff, but clearly I can’t be bothered! Honestly, I’ve hardly got out of bed today - what are my chances of organising a dinner party, should I have even the merest inclination to do so.
So a spliff it is. Papers? Yep. Chocolate? Yep. Water? Yep. I’m good to go. Hello sweet nothingness! I swear I could roll these in my sleep. I just love the ritual of it, the sliding the paper backwards and forwards between your fingers to make sure it’s evenly rolled, the slowly licking the paper to seal it - always right to left, never the other way round. The final tap on the tin, a kind of good luck thing. The flare of the match, the crackle of the tobacco, the first hint of a smell, the first mouthful of smoke. However did I give up for so long?…..