There's no-one in the house. Himself is collecting a parcel from the post office. The painter has collected his cheque and his ladder, leaving nice, clean, freshly painted windows, details of the music festival he runs that he wants to add literary and comic streams to and a promise that the carpenter will return on Saturday and fit the leaded glass front door and fix the door jamb. I have torn myself away from the copy of Agnes and the Hitman that's just arrived to get to work and my cup of tea. The cats are snoozing in the sun on the bed (the Jeffster will be snoozing in the sun down at number 59 as we were at Simon's brother's wedding on sunny Jersey all weekend - glorious sunset photos to follow). So why, as I walk into the office do I feel someone run their hand smoothly down my arm and brush my hip? Is Simon back already? Only invisible from some strange sorting office accident? Or is it just the curtain rod falling over as I walk past... eek!