My hands smell of chemicals. Dettol and dirt, dust and soap and some generic bathroom cleanser from Tesco.
Having moved yesterday, I had to go back to the place that housed me for three and something years to clean up, to hoover and wipe and rid the place completely of myself.
There were buckets of sweat in the scrubbing but not a wistful sigh to be heard.
Shorn of my stuff the flat was just a shell and it's hard to get nostalgic for a place without people, a place with paper thin walls and fighting couples overhead and students next door and... That's all well written by now.
Anyway, it's led me to this, back to living with Fitzbollix.
I have counted the tea bags, the slices of bread, the nice chocolate mini-dealies from Marks and Spencer. I have taken inventory and consider this a further warning to the man directly - stay out of my underwear drawer.
It's for your own good.