Standing on my feet on the floor of my kitchen in my home in Glasgow, I looked with my blue eyes out of the double-glazed window which sat in the middle of the wall like a clear panel of carefully-engineered plastic in the middle of an interior wall. The rain was falling from clouds and through the air, down towards the ground, where it landed, making wet puddles of water on the grey pavement far below where it had started from.
I was hungry in my stomach. Scratching the back of my head with the fingers of my left hand, I opened the door of the fridge which stood next to the window on the opposite side of the room from the tall oak door. An electric light inside the fridge came on inside the fridge and illuminated the inside of the fridge. With my right hand, I picked up the Davidstow mature cheddar cheese which sat next to a brightly-coloured plastic tub of butter-substitute vegetable-oil-based spread. I also picked up the vegetable-oil-based spread. I would have a sandwich to eat with my mouth.