The Pesimists Plan

Ian wasn't sure whether to pack anything, if he did the sun would come out and blight any food supplies he'd packed. It just did. It was the law. Not that Tony was to blame. Or Gordon, for that matter. But someone was to blame and it was most likely the weatherman. The-better-looking-than-Ian-though-that-didn't-take-much: WEATHERMAN.

Uhhh. Ian though about weathermen for a second then managed a half-hearted post middle life crisis sigh. deep breaths made him feel like he'd just walked up stairs or something.

And that was crap.

There wasn't really much point in going out, people wouldn't find out if he just stayed in, that way he wouldn't risk getting his anorak wet. Last time a man who rented beach chairs had told him to smile. it had been two months since the happy clan had contacted him since, although the last time was by phone, although unexpected, easily escapable. He almost had a fit- then remembered he was in the house on his own and there was no one around to appreciate it.

Drat.
Get a lodger. Nah. They gold diggers or gravediggers... male and female respectively.

He almost felt relief for not having a lodger then remembered hindsight sometimes triggered positive qualities, things he didn't really like- such as thankfulness and various other things which made his mouth curl

Upwards.