Flatwarming!

I am currently looking out of my kitchen window onto a grey, cloudy, overcast day. There is a row of former-garages opposite, most of them boarded up in various examples of 'Cheapass-can't-be-bothered-stick-a-bit-of-wood-over-it'. One has a bright orange traffic cone on top. It is bent, a smooth melted curve, tipped to the right as if seeking out the nonexistent sunshine of summer.

It is still raining, a light steady scattering of raindrops that occasionally glint grey in the gloom and fling themselves with abandon against my window. They gleam in long streamers of droplets, clinging.

I'm dressed only in a short nightie, sat at the kitchen table, and debating when (whether) to get dressed. It's a pretty nightie. And I'm not entirely sure who will be turning up this weekend. It's not a huge flat, I don't want everyone here at once.

I want small, intimate groups, where I will be able to lean forward and place a hand on their knee as I murmur a comment. I want to enjoy the presence of each person. Savour their laughter, their joy, their pleasure. The warmth that extends from their friendship. The effort they have made to come all the way here, in the rain and on a weekend.

I don't want to be falling over people as I shout a comment about the music.

So, for me, this will be a quiet flatwarming. A trickle of candle light and the lilt of conversation, not a glare of floodlit crowds. Tea will be offered, a few DVDs put on, a couple of large pillows scattered. I may bring out a few duvets. Food will be going the rounds.

But that is for later. It is just gone 12, and the flatwarming weekend is about to start.