Treat treatment

‘You should,’ says Special Agent Dale Cooper when asked why he is drinking coffee instead of hunting killers, ‘treat yourself to one thing each day.’

These are wise words, even if they are said by someone who is friends with a dwarf who talks backwards. (Watch Twin Peaks if you haven’t.)

Which is why I have come to Richmond on my day off. Far, far away from my flat and lists and phone calls and questions and emails and bank statements. Well, 15 minutes on the 65 bus, anyway.

Richmond is posh. It’s the part of London you take family members to when they visit because it has swans and a Waitrose. I am sitting by the Thames drinking coffee and watching pigeons fight over a pizza crust. A homeless man is also watching them (this is Richmond homeless though - he has a Daily Telegraph on his lap which he has been reading, not using for shelter).

Sitting here, next to the homeless man, watching the pigeons, it is the calmest I have felt in weeks.

‘I should treat myself more often,’ I think, ‘not stress about money and moving.’

I head to the main street. I buy some trousers (treat). I buy a top (treat). I have some wine (treat). I eat a Galaxy Ripple. I buy Stephen King’s Misery on DVD (treat). I book myself in for a wax I can’t afford (treat). I should be buying mildew spray to clean the bathroom and white gloss to paint over the tea stains on my kitchen walls. I buy a shiny belt instead.

I am high on treats.

‘I should not be allowed out on my own until further notice,’ I think, wisely.