My husband is 20 minutes late, he cycles, so obviously he is dead, mowed down by a lorry at that horrible roundabout in Elephant and Castle. But there is no time for sadness, I have already gone into Apocalypse Mode. I am thinking, did we sort out the life insurance, what kind of childcare will I need to get in place, it will be a bit lonely, but at least there is always the Ocado man to talk to on a Sunday evening.
My train is stuck outside Victoria Station, well, obviously someone has blown it up. Radio 3 goes crackly and then silent, everyone in the world has been felled by some terrible virus, everyone except me, and in no time I will be like Wall-E, roaming the earth, tidying up, with nothing but a wind up VHS and my old video of Excalibur. I am hardwired for catastrophe, I always have been, and for a long time assumed everyone else was too, until I met my husband and realised that there were really people out there who think that the world is a benign place and the worst thing isn’t necessarily going to happen.
Yes, some of the places my brain takes me might seem illogical, but it is a powerful form of self-protection, because when my husband walks through the door, when the train steams into a weirdly intact Victoria, when the radio starts up again with a lovely bit of Vaughan Williams; I am happier than any of you. And the apocalypse will come one day, I know it, I am waiting for it. To be honest I would be a bit annoyed if it didn’t.