Dear Diary. I have five keys in my pocket. Keys for the new apartment and old apartment. With all these keys, I feel powerful, like a slum landlord. The more keys you have, the more powerful you are. Either that or you're a school janitor.

It's 7.20 pm now. I’m taking yet more stuff to the new apartment. With one hand, I'm pulling a suitcase full of clothes, and with the other hand, I'm pulling a shopping trolley, the kind old ladies use to take their shopping home in, except instead of shopping, it’s full of crap. Hanging off the shopping trolley an umbrella, two gym bags, both full of crap.

I keep going. Keep moving stuff between the two apartments. I'm feeling good. Euphoric, even. Must be all the sun and exercise. I say to myself, out loud, “Can you remember the last time you watched TV? I can’t!” and it makes me giggle. A man across the street looks at me and frowns. I think I'm going mad.

Also, it's not even true because I can remember the last time I watched TV. It was a week ago. I watched the fourth episode of What If on Girlfriend's tablet while on holiday.

In front of me, there’s a woman with a dog. The dog stops. It lifts up a back leg and does a piss right there and then, on the street. The woman turns to see why the dog has stopped. She looks at the piss, she looks at dog, she sighs, and she keeps walking.

I don’t know what you’re supposed to do when a dog does a piss on the street. It’s not like you can pick it up.