I've said before it would take eight minutes.
I'm sat here looking round thinking it's closer to four. It's almost been a year, I must say I don't really miss anything that's here when I'm not here. I spend so much time away now that's these four walls are literally just a place to sleep, in a lumpy hard mattress bed that creaks, even his bed is better than mine.
The tiny T.V is so pointless, the dvd player makes noises like its desperately trying to keep up in a marathon. It's still cold, its always damp and drafty. I don't bother keeping food here anymore. My DVD's once such a proud little collection is now insignificant, Mr Jones gets me any movie I want to watch. I used to treasure my books, but years at uni struggling to read through books I cant stand has taken me away from the pleasure of reading, I haven't had time to read a book properly with dedication in ages. I have my fabric box, craft boxes, clothes: all replaceable.
My pictures, well...my Grace sketchbook is at Mr Jones' anyway. There's only really one painting of mine I'd take from the wall to take with me...and Jerome of course. What about Paul? Hmmm, Paul is my paper mache alien, I guess I'd take Paul too.