affectation

parlaying

Detail is not the problem. It is a life lived without it, among flat, modern surfaces and the eternal bright light of the warm indoors, that is making me sick.

there is the detail of knowing who will find it interesting if you speak about them, and how you should approach the subject.

unbidden,

Every night, beach-worn, Bert curls up in bed next to me, and I often wake to find two bright eyes on me, just savouring the glee of being close. He strokes my face and whispers, ‘I love you, Mummy,’ and then wriggles his little body nearer, insinuating himself under my chin. And I realise, quite unexpectedly, that Bert is the only person in my lif

dithering.

scuppered.

contrite