When the lights came on at the end, Darren turned to me with a stupid smile and said: ‘I guess it’s a rap.’ I could tell he’d been waiting to say that all evening. I ignored his remark – as it only encourages him – and I was annoyed because I’d been waiting to say it, too.

Monday May 28th

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A Bank Holiday Monday empty of commitments and a reliable, if moderately speeded, Wi-Fi connection is a dangerous nexus for someone with a bank account oozing with redundancy money.

The focus of my online attentions was to find a few furnishings for my soon-to-arrive writer’s shed. I stuck to the essentials: a writing desk and chair, two floor-to-ceiling bookcases, an antique Remington home typewriter, a whiteboard for brainstorming writerly thoughts, a desk lamp, a standing lamp, some curtains, a rug, a small wood-burning stove, a yoga mat, a new kettle, two tins of Lapsang Souchong, coffee machine, two packets of fair-trade Sumatran kopi luwak coffee, a neo-Dada abstract painting by up-and-coming artist Monica Banerjee, three cushions, three Penguin Classics cushion covers, a footbath, a mini-fridge and an antique globe mini-bar.

I didn’t bother with stationery as I already have enough of that.

Tuesday May 29th

I’ve been carrying Liz’s beer mat around in my pocket since last Friday and although I’ve taken it out to stare at the digits from time to time – hourly, to be more precise – I have yet to take affirmative action of any description.

As is customary, I’ve been working hard at convincing myself that this inaction is borne of a deliberate long-term strategy of playing hard-to-get rather than the accumulation of years of shyness and social awkwardness.

And so, instead of picking up my phone and keying in those eleven simple digits, I choose rather to sit here, beneath the cat, and write a poem: not one for me to perform at next month’s Poetry Club; not one written for my own amusement; but one written because it feels like a kind of action even if no one will ever see it except me.

Please Excuse Me

My dear ambassador, I am afraid

I am unable to join your pompous parade

of dignitaries on Thursday evening,

because I am working my way through