The Writer is Out There.

19^th Dec.

 

Things have been getting a little weirder round here. Naranjan in particular. He’s been weird around volunteers since being reprimanded for eating my stash (including the Sacred Hobnobs) and told to work chiefly downstairs. He’s simultaneously aloof with us and clingy – clamouring around us and vying for attention.

 

Yesterday and today, as night wraps us in its ice-box, Naranjan shuns his jumper. Every time he passes me, he audibly shivers, shakes enthusiastically as he wraps his arms about himself, and, pained expression on his face as he eyes my fleece, says “Sarah, cold.”

 

“Naranjan, you, jumper/ jacket?”

 

“Yes.” He looks hopeful.

 

“Ka ha?” Where?

 

“No. Me, no.” his eyes flick back to my jacket.

 

“You have. I’ve seen.”

 

“No.” pause “Sarah,” he points at my fleece “me, jacket?”

 

“No, Naranjan.”

 

So he returns to his shivering, hoping I’ll feel guilty enough to change my mind.

 

What tips the balance from annoyance to hilarity, though, is that when he’s 5 paces away, almost in the kitchen or on the stairs, he drops the act in favour of his usual ‘I’m cool’ strut, only to act pathetic when he returns.