Don’t put your hand in the fire Mrs Worthington, don’t put your hand in the fire.
Fuel we have a plenty and the room is warm.
The logs crackle and appear to spring to life for no particular reason.
All is quiet – no sound pervades from the room of TV.
The settees lie empty around the fireplace – they crave occupation.
Two small lights straddle the mantelpiece.
It is still early.
The mind wonders.
Outside the occasional car passes by but not enough to distract or interfere.
Curtains prevent heat escaping through the front window and to the conservatory.
A log falls off the fire and is retrieved – no harm is done.
Somnambulence takes over.
I look around for more.