I could be dead.

My parents have gone on holiday - they seem to be making a habit of it, their last one was less than a month ago. This means that I am Home Alone - although potential robbers and murderers note, I have watched Macaulay Culkin films extensively and have rigged up an intricate system of blowtorches and cans of paint should any plucky mofos see fit to trespass upon my fiefdom. And that.

I had to move my mum's monolithic slab of a pilates machine upstairs earlier and it got me thinking - what if the hulking mass of metal and ropes and fallen on my and I died? My mangled body would be found at the bottom of the stairs in a week, DVD player still on, heating run amok and my bedroom, frankly, a mess. My hair's a bit greasy and I'm currently wearing my dodgy but comfortable pyjamas with an unsightly hole in the crotch (you can't see it unless you really look, it doesn't give any of the storyline away).

I spoke to my Grandma earlier - 'I only spoke to him last night' - how freaky, to be the person who has that last conversation? The neighbour I waved to earlier, the woman across the street who saw me scraping the windscreen this morning, the woman in Lidl who put my gateau on its side after scanning it through the till and got a scowl as well as the exact change. You, reading my ominous last words, which will haunt people forever (or at least until the renewal comes through for the web address) because no-one knows my passwords.

I quite often give my room a once over before I leave the house in case I die whilst I'm out - I don't want people to think ill of me as they pile through my room, sticking shit in boxes for the charity shop. But how depressing - a slip in the hall on the laminate floor, electrocuted in the kitchen, a fall down the stairs - a myriad ways in which I could meet my end, which could come at any time, not just when I'm in the house on my own.

In some ways I'm lucky enough - I've got people who will notice, it wouldn't be six years or a pile of post, it'd be my parents stuck at the airport next week. You'll spot them, the slightly-tanned people who look like they've had two holidays in the space of a month. And time off over Christmas. I guess it's just the way I'm wired that these things come into my head.

Freak.