There’s a television on in the corner of the room, but as usual I’m not watching it, it’s just for background noise. As my eyes sweep around the room they catch sight of all the faded posters on my walls and gaze in turn at tributes to The Clash, Trainspotting, and Glasgow Celtic amongst others, the things that matter to me. There are two guitars and a bass guitar propped up against my wardrobe, all three well-used and kept in good condition. I next look upon the mirror hanging on the wall and see my own grey eyes staring back at themselves. As I look round at my window I stand up and walk across to it, stepping over the countless old books and pads of paper I keep near my bed.
The view from my window is the same as ever, although my front garden has a more wintry feel about it than yesterday. The days are definitely growing shorter. The grass is nigh on invisible underneath a think ground frost and the evergreen trees that border it are covered with sparkling shards of ice, each catching the eye whenever the pale December sun shines weakly through them. A paved path cuts a trail through the frosty grass out into the street where it meets with another path which links mine to a dozen more.
A sleepy calm reigns over the street outside my window, only broken every now and again by the shuffling, icy footsteps of its residents leaving for work, school or any other such destination. A few minutes then pass as I lazily watch the postman’s progress as he cautiously works his way up the cold, slippery street. I do not envy him his job today; despite the growing mountain of coursework waiting for me should I finally happen to rise out of this morning lethargy.