This is our pink stripy piggy. He is technically a doorstop. Gordon bought him to keep our lounge door (which is weirdly spring-loaded like our other interior doors) open. But to me he is much more than a doorstop. He is my friend. He is the only friend I have in Nottingham so far. I know things will be different when I have a job, but since the Eurovision party the longest conversation I have had face to face with a human (Gordon doesn't count) was with the guy who tried to sell me vision insurance in the mall. He was nice. And the postman dropped off something once and said a whole sentence to me. That was good. But the piggy is there for me every day, holding the door for me when I come in after a long day of shopping, "struggling with bags from Tesco", Aldi, and Holland & Barrett. Sometimes we have a nice cup of tea and a chat about the weather. When Gordon comes home the piggy holds the salt shaker for us while we eat dinner. He likes to wear my shoes (the piggy- not Gordon). He has buttons for eyes, for nostrils, and for hip flexors. I know that if one of our shirts lost a button that the stripy piggy would sacrifice his own comfort and donate a hip flexor or a nostril, because that's the kind of piggy he is. I only wish that everyone could have such a lovely piggy friend. Then nobody would eat bacon. Especially not the stripy kind.