I lowered my gaze to the sink surround in search of the pot of the bloody expensive moisturising cream I’d bought the other month. However, instead of the usual clutter of pots, tubes, and bottles set amid a dusting of whiskers, the counter was clear, save for a tooth mug with a toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste sticking out the top of it. Next to the mug was a small bottle of mouthwash. Where was everything? Had my mother been round? Odd she hadn’t woken me, and she normally came on a Sunday. Today was Saturday wasn’t it? I shook my head, brushed my teeth, spit, rinsed, then gargled with the mouthwash. I found the moisturiser, my electric shaver, and everything else, in the drawer under the sink. As I rearranged things the way I liked them, I began to smell bacon. Strange that I’d never
