Not that I was begging for anything to write about and genuinely considering giving up this whole stupid self-indulgent exercise, but I just saw a Tweet from a chum claiming they would go insane if they lived alone.
I would like to leap to the defence of living alone, as living alone is brilliant.
DISCLAIMER: I complain about housemates because I share a house with them. Other than that I only share a washing machine with them and have everything else to myself – kitchen, shitter, living room (hah it’s a bedsit) etc. So yeah, that.
Living alone means you can arrive home and not have to put up with any snide or complainy comments when you immediately drop trou.
Living alone means you can listen to the music you want to listen to – or even the music you don’t want to listen to. Because it doesn’t matter. It’s your choice.
Living alone means dropping trou.
Living alone means you cannot get annoyed with any mess made or when anything runs out, because you have made the mess and you have used all of the thing that has run out. As it is clearly, entirely your fault and responsibility, there can be no silly little irritation at others.
Living alone drop trou.
Living alone means nobody judges you when you get two things of Lidl noodles in a pan with some beans that smelled a bit off and chop up a Lidl-branded pepparami into it then cook it for a few minutes. Well, except for when you reveal that’s what you did on your blog. (S’alright nobody reads it luuuuulz)
Living alone means you can watch Farscape as much as you want and nobody will ever have anything negative to say or be able to stop you doing so or stop you coming up with a blog super-quick so you can retreat to the settee and carry on from episode seven.
Living alone is brilliant: more of you should do it.
I am so painfully alone.