Fessing up

I have done something so utterly heinous that I cannot keep it to myself. Even though writing it down is going to get me into all sorts of trouble, for the sake of my sanity I have to confess. It’s something I’ve been doing for years but only just realised. I must have been in denial, because it is just so shameful.

It was a terrible shock when I finally rumbled myself. I was sitting at the kitchen table ploughing through the latest election leaflets pushed through my door, searching in vain for a grain of policy that might apply to an insignificant little single girl like me — nothing, not even a hint of an acknowledgement that I might exist — when it hit me. OK, I’m just going to come out and say it: I had the heating on full blast and the back door wide open. I know.