LAURA CARTLEDGE: It turns out being home alone isn’t as fun as those movies made out

AT the time of writing this I’m only two days into a week of working from home. Alone.

And already I’ve learned so much.

Like just how cold an old cottage can get, no matter how unseasonably tropical the weather outside.

On the first day it took me until 10:30am, and when my hands had turned blue, to realise there was a window open.

Sitting at the table in the same room as the front door also guarantees a daily heart attack thanks to the postman’s delivery.

You don’t realise the noise fast food leaflets and credit card bills can make.

Even my phone ringing makes me jump out of my skin, slippers, blanket and numerous layers of clothing.

So to break the otherwise deafening silence I turned to the radio.

It started off nice, I felt almost rebellious, before I realised no matter what station you listen to it will find the three songs you like and play them.

Over. And over. And over.

By this point I admit I was wondering how long cabin fever takes to set in.

It also seems cup-a-soups are still as rubbish as I remember.

And while the novelty of being able to have toasted sandwiches for lunch wears off, the fact you can have jacket potatoes without spending a fiver doesn’t.

In other food news, I’ve purposely made the fruit bowl my friend.

Ignoring the tempting whispers of the biscuit tin is going well, so far.

While being at home all day is not something I am sure I enjoy, it seems my family think it is brilliant.

I’m currently waiting with baited breath for the arrival of a part to fix the pond pump.

Most of all, however, I find I have a deeper understanding of my partner’s cat.

In fact, on day one, I did a pretty good impression of her by running to the front door at the first sound of a car.