I mostly write alone, in the presence of myself. I am not sure whether I should be bothered by this, it just is. The simple truth is that the only time I can find to write these days is when I am on my own. Occasionally when I am with family – I might eek out a few sentences but it often feels like a very anti-social activity. I used to have these romantic notions that I would write my blog posts in coffee shops – sipping an overly sugared and caffeinated beverage – staring knowingly at my fellow members of society. But strangely enough, that just does not happen. I do not have time for that! Instead I write in stolen moments, pockets of time. At this moment, I am in bed, alone in my flat, suffering from flu, in my green plaid pyjamas and pink fluffy dress gown, surrounded by a tissues and my cup of lemsip.