Sarah's writing journal

Recently I drank a strange man's champagne from his fridge, ate his pasta and slept in his bed. And more than this, I've never even met him! Living in furnished rented accomodation is weird - I find I'm making up stories about my landlord from his choice of lamps, curtains, even - especially - pictures. I suppose the moral of this is never to rent your home out to a writer. I was excited though to find here a whole narrative being given to a sofa left in a skip. Makes me think about the stories we're making up everyday without even being aware of it.