Drinking in Silence.

How often have I been sat at this desk that I do not own?

It's strange to think that I somehow end up orbiting this place: Scotland, to here. From Westbury to here. From Guildford to here. And now, from Trowbridge to here.

I slingshot back and forth to this one, deathly silent place, and how often I end up drinking on-offer Leffe and projecting poorly written booze-addled tripe into the computer; sitting as it does like the knight in the Last Crusade. It's unusual, is what it is. My world, as it stands, has not changed much. Apart from that guy. Yes. Apart from that, things have remained very the same for a while now - which makes things difficult to write about. I have not yet made my fortune as a third-party rubber distributor, or discovered some lost archipelago (I just love the word and by God I spelt it correctly first time out) and brought back silks and spices with the tales of exotic faraway lands upon my lips, but I am muddling on.

The cat who's house I've invaded is crying at me now, in his peculiar girl's voice. He is a large Tom, and what he lacks in logical thought, grace and not-looking-extremely-gormless, he more than makes up for in bulk. He is what would be referred to as a Lump. I would imagine a meow from such a predatory creature to be possessed of a deep and noble timbre, perhaps if you were to listen to a hearty chuckle from George Clooney - but no. I have mentioned Joe Abercrombie before, but if you've read the books just picture Bremer dan Gorst: brushed upon in book one but magnificently elaborated on further in the series. (I am so glad he did: one of the most real characters I've ever read)

Though, living in this space has allowed me to indulge in strange pass-times. Take my advice: spend one night a month at least, doing nothing. On your own. Drink your favourite alcoholic beverage and allow it to seep into your veins. Feel the glow, like a winter sunrise, wash over you, and don't fight it. Never fight it. In company we become loud, and happy, and maudlin and energetic and tired... On our own we have no one to play to, no one to impress - so we become who we really are, unbound by social convention. We as social creatures never really appreciate what a good drunk is, and as pathetic as it sounds being sat in the near-dark with a good wine or beer, allowing yourself to wade in up to the neck in drunkenness is a rare treat.

Do it, and learn about yourself.

And thank me later.