Easy

We've had a couple of doubtful days. The mood has been down. Deb has cooled on the idea, concentrating on the madness and the risk. I've been working long days and I haven't had a day off in 3 weeks, and so the negativity has rubbed off on me. It's madness. My friend Martin said so. I respect him. Selling the house would be a mistake. Wouldn't it?

It's Sunday night and I've been at work most of the day, painting a newsagents in town. It wasn't too bad; the weather was great and I've been painting the shop front. In many ways it's been a fascinating day just watching the people I share the world with going about their lives.

One guy came and spent 2 hours in the shop, talking to customers and the owners, and me. How lonely do you have to be to do that on a Sunday morning? He was about 40, short, overweight; he wore a Leicester City football shirt. A man desperate to belong to a team.

Another man parked outside the shop and asked directions to the steam railway station. I was in the process of directing him, when the guy in the football shirt appeared at my shoulder, like the shopkeeper in Mr Ben, from nowhere. He contradicted my guidance, informing me that the road I had directed the stranger down was closed for repairs. I quickly changed the directions, but I found myself looking at him for his approval. What is it about men and directions?

There was a steady stream of customers all day. Some looked as if they had the mother of all hangovers from a heavy Saturday nights binge. One such guy left with a four pack; hair of the dog they call it.

I put my ipod on and enjoyed the weather and the mindless monotony. My music was drowned out by booming bass and offensive lyrics. Eminem pumping out at the lights. I turned expecting to see a 4 by 4, blacked windows. I got to see a middle aged guy in a Vauxhall Vectra, empty child seat in the front.

We are definitely going; this isn't worth staying for.