Take a month off the computer and you remember that no one you meet on line is real, you can say anything to them, they are but dust or smoke in the air from mid afternoon daggers of fading winter sunlight, less than addicts on your phone calling for charity, less than the mud on your shoes cause this at least soils your carpet, less than tissued fluid, less than sooty foil in your bin, less than memories of abandoned dreams, less than heartache, less than coal, less than benefit cuts to Cameron, less than Ainsley Harriot to David Haye, less than the click, click, click of a clipper in your living room as your guest screws the last dregs from perforated foil and horror sets in, dreams more cruel than reality. Give me my sofa, my duvet and my beer.
For I am home, ahhhh
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