It became normal to sleep in my clothes,
wake up on the settee
the last thing I'd remember
was flicking through late night music channels
or watching repeats of Columbo.
I rarely shaved,
the bristle always blunted
cheap razorblades.
If visitors wanted sugar in their tea
I would use sachets
swiped from cafe sugarbowls.
Once I took a sportsbag into Tesco
filled it with coffee and tinned fruit
and darted out
like a Nike swoosh.
"It was like having flu,"
I tell you
"it was like one of those dreams
where you fall from the roof
of a multi story car park
and when you wake you have pins and needles
in your feet."
