If anyone was to spot me walking through town early this morning, they would have seen a dishevelled looking woman clutching a bottle of water as if she was trying to dilute a very serious hangover. It didn’t help either that I was walking with a limp, an indication perhaps that I fell over in a drunken state the previous night. Or that my makeup was a sweaty goop spread unevenly across my face.

Eventually I made it home after what felt like a very long walk of shame; my eyes could barely stay open long enough to see whether I was putting the correct key in the lock. And I was in my room for less than a second before I managed to somehow undress myself completely – before finally falling into bed.

For the past few weeks I’ve been somewhat sad about the fact I sleep alone; that there is no warm, pliable body next to mine to hold and cuddle in bed. But this morning, as I stretched my legs out, as I twisted my body horizontally across the mattress and bunched the pillows up into a comfortable mess underneath my head, I was glad there was no one there to get in the way; least not to see the state I was in.

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