Invasion

The spiral stairs thunder continually, there is noise from dawn to dusk; furniture is never where you expect it to be, you are constantly stumbling on piles of detritus, clothes and boots, forgotten arms caches, animals and gunmen, fallen, littering the landscape; foraging expeditions move constantly from place to place, looking for toast, honey, chocolate and cake; like occupying forces everywhere, impatient of being fobbed off, with banana, raw carrot, dried apricot, they demand luxury; wheeled vehicles will suddenly career round the kitchen just as you are getting something involving boiling oil out of the oven; drums beat from the second floor; there is carousing far into the night. How can a mere five constitute such a total presence?