Typed straight in to the blog

I looked out on to the rooftops that surrounded me on all sides. I wavered on the edge of the window sill in the sudden gusts of wind that whip across the sky, bringing clouds and rain. Bringing darkness. A look downwards and I could just make out the rubbish bins that stood, sentinel, against the patterned brickwork, patched up over the decades by a hundred different craftsmen, many of whom must now be dead.

I came up here because I fancied a breath of fresh air. Now, there are swirling blue lights, megaphone voices distorted by the rush of air around my ears and the clatter of the rain drops on the roof tiles. Now there is a crowd, straining upwards.

People forget that when you're on the ground and someone is high above you, every word they utter is carried upwards; I can hear the whispers. I know that three of my neighbours want me to jump, out of morbid curiosity; most of the crowd just want the police to go away so that they can get on with their sleeping, their fucking, their rows.

I want a cup of tea. But, Cassandra isn't coming back until Tuesday.

I'm not allowed to use the kettle unsupervised.

Suddenly, the rain ceases and the wind blows open the clouds to show a full moon gazing down on this scene that I have inadvertently created. I suck the air into my lungs, deep. A cough emits from within, but is snatched away from my mouth by the wind. I fumble in my coat for the packet of cigarettes I know Cass leaves there for emergencies.

I don't smoke, but I've seen these things on TV. Someone always has to be smoking, so it might as well be me. Funny how calming it is, smoking. I can see the attraction. It's another five minutes off my life. As if we can count down the seconds to death.

The human race sometimes makes me shudder. For intelligent beings we can be so stupid. So short-sighted.

My legs are stiffening with the cold. The cigarette is burning away in between my fingers. I can feel its heat against my skin. It reminds me I'm still alive.

I flick the stub away into the night, watch the shower of sparks tumble to the ground, most of them extinguished along the way, some carried for hundreds and hundreds of yards.

I wonder if they want me to say something, the crowd and those police officers? I can't think of something to shout so I sit quietly. The rain has started again.

I really want that cup of tea.