Footsteps outside. I can hear them because it’s a nice day and the front door’s open. It’s also just been painted. Neither my voice nor motor skills engage, so there’s a knock knock. 
 
By the time I get there, some bloke with a clipboard and black gloss on the middle three knuckles of his right hand, is scanning a list. I tell him to come in and show him the laptop. 
 
“Do you think this is what they call blogging?” I ask him. He doesn’t know and he certainly doesn’t care. He wants to know if I’d like to switch from my current energy supplier to the one he works for and if I’ve got any white spirit in the house. 
 
I tell him I’m already "with" his energy company and that there’s some in a bottle on the back step. He checks his list again, shakes his head and walks through the house and out onto the back step. I carry on writing.

M C