Yes, there were other things that happened today, but this is the beginning of the real events. It starts with this. I get home.

The house smells of wet paint and another odour that I cannot quite define. They mix in the air, I taste them as I pull them in through my mouth; my nose. I know already this is bad news.

Dad tells me that he wants me to clear my bedroom for a new carpet tomorrow. He tries to make it exciting, but I can tell he has no idea what he;s just asked me to do. I know by his face that he doesn;t know at all.

I had plans today. I wanted to come home and get down to my coursework, really knock it on the head. But there always seems to be something, some job that needs doing, some spanner in the works that stops me from ever fulfilling my plan. I go into my room and begin clearing it.

I;ve worked hard. There is lots of loose dust floating in the sunlight as it shines on my empty room. Another place that is no longer really mine, at least for the time being. It's more than a simple dislike of decorating that makes me hate this, it;s deeper - decorating means selling, moving, starting all over again in a house not my own, trying to make it my own. Mine, my own. Ours.

I want a house of our own.

But I have worked hard today, we all have; we deserve something nice, like a Chinese. But I know it won;t be something nice, and I will be disappointed again. It;s already decided - the implacable smell from before is the oven, heating, in preparation for the meal.

What I said on Saturday is still true - I just want to crawl into bed next to you and never leave it again.