Everyone was away except me. Big G was abroad and the children were at my sister's. I kept hearing noises and imagining somebody shifty was trying to open the back door. I microwaved an odd but surprisingly tasty combination of leftovers, poured a glass of wine and soaked in an almost unbearably hot bath. It was so quiet. Then I plodded downstairs and slumped on the sofa.
Having zero tolerance to most mainstream TV, because frankly, it's shite, I amused myself by hopping through the music channels. It's one of the joys of solitude, channel hopping in peace. Q is by far the best: I was treated to Placebo, David Bowie, REM, Radiohead, Alanis Morissette, and then Scar Tissue by the Red Hot Chili Peppers came on.
Ah yes, scar tissue. The reason I'm sore and resting and should not lift heavy things. Scars are Life's Punctuation Marks. Every time you collect a new scar (emotional or physical?!) you slow life down to a stop, pause, breathe in and think for a little while.