Home, Alone.

I'm not good at holidays, never have been.

I like being at home where all my toys are and where I don't have to feign interest in something because I've paid an entrance fee.

Earlier this year Linda's friend Anne suggested that we go on holiday with her to an isolated cottage on the Cornish coast.

This was a good plan in those far off days.
As the year wore on and my employment opportunities evaporated the plan seemed unrealistic.
Then Linda's other friend, June, offered to take my place so the trip became financially viable again.
Linda still wasn't keen on going as it would be the first time since we meet 12 years ago that we'd been apart for any significant length of time.
I told Linda that she should go because she really needs a holiday if not from the work-a-day-world then from me.

Last Monday off they all went:

Linda left me a list containing two instructions:
01) Feed the Fish
02) Water the garden.

I'm typing this on the eve of her return.
I SURVIVED!
I'm not a half-starved naked bearded wreck covered in my own filth either!
I've done all the washing, I've fed myself, I've got clean underwear on (I even ironed my underpants) and everything I've used in the process of cooking is washed, dried and put away where it belongs.

I've had several communications from Linda the most confusing being this photo that turned up on my mobile phone:

Those are definitely Linda's legs.