It's Only Temporary by Jamie Pearson Page A

own brand version the thought of which made me shudder, the other a recognised brand which although twice the price was in my opinion worth it, after all there was no sense in skimping on necessities was there?  I bought a lemon and a peeling device as well as some readymade chicken and pasta; admittedly I went over my daily limit by a few pounds but was confident I could readdress the deficit the following day.
    Returning to my flat I encountered a man on the landing, I immediately recognised him but could not initially place where from. He was in his mid-fifties and evidently had not shaved or showered for that matter for a few days. He was dressed in a slightly worn tracksuit and it was this observation that enabled me to recall where I knew him from. He was the man in the job centre who had been holding “Illegal Raves” and appeared to be going to the gym. This was evidently where he was either returning from or heading out to.
    ‘Hello mate,’ he said.
    ‘Hello.’ I replied as I hurriedly attempted to retrieve my keys from my pocket in order to minimise the time I had to spend in his odour.
    He eyed my shopping bag, ‘Just moved in?’
    ‘Yes actually. It’s a temporary arrangement.’
    ‘Yeah, we all think that mate. Got a light?’
    Light? The landing was in shadow but it was far from dark and hardly needed illumination.
    ‘Errr sorry?’
    ‘Y’know for a smoke,’ he waved a battered looking self-made cigarette at me.
    ‘Oh no. I don’t smoke. Isn’t it against the rules?’
    ‘What is?’
    ‘Smoking.’
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘Isn’t there a rule against it?’
    ‘Dunno, don’t care,’ he said as he broke into a gap toothed grin and slapped me on the shoulder hard enough to cause me to grab the handrail to stop myself falling down the stairs.
    ‘Alfie’s the name,’ he said thrusting his hand out at me. Would this be traditional hand shale or a fist pump? I looked down at his hand as I could not see any form of fist took it my own. He then performed some kind of hand manipulation that would not have been out of place in a Free Mason lodge meeting.
    Did no-one simply shake hands anymore?
    ‘Marcus’ I replied.
    ‘Cool. Catch you later mate, got to see a man about a horse as they say?’
    Horse? I elected to not even begin to try and fathom what he meant; perhaps he worked at a stable?  He certainly smelt like it.
    I entered my room; it seemed a bit grand to call it a flat and deposited my bag on the floor. I quickly washed my hands in case Alfie had left me any lingering residue before I took stock. My first mistake quickly became evident; I had food for the evening but no cutlery or crockery. I also had tea and lemon but no kettle or cups. I could empty my Egyptian sand from my mug but had nowhere to put it.
    It was a nice evening and my room did not really offer much in the way of entertainment so I walked back to the supermarket where I was able to buy myself some cutlery and against my better judgement a mug as they had no cups. Earl Grey in a mug?  What next?  Perhaps I should invest in a track suit and neglect my personal hygiene?
    This slightly petulant train of thought made me realise that I would also need washing up and toiletry supplies. The young lady behind the counter advised me that I could obtain a Kettle from the larger version of the supermarket if I caught the bus.
    Following my return bus journey, purchasing a kettle, some washing powder and on impulse a magazine I returned to my flat. I was horrified to see that I had spent the equivalent of four days money in one go but I reassured myself that the kettle had been the biggest expense and was a one off. As I drew the curtains I could see that the bar of the pub was very busy, well at least some one had the finances to entertain themselves. I was surprised however to see that one of the drinkers was Alfie.
    Having made some tea I settled on my airbed to eat my pasta and read the magazine, although the food was a