A whirlwind, if ever there was one – trains and planes, and five days in Lisbon, and important decisions over which I to-ed and fro-ed, over and over. But whirlwinds are welcome, sometimes. And then the first hot weekend of the year and all that entails – the concrete hum of the pavements under the sun’s steady gaze, the sight of a woman reaching out of her window to pick basil for dinner, observed from my seat on the tube. The violet night sky embroidered with the blinking staccato of a thousand aeroplanes, meals eaten barefoot and standing up in the garden, the lone swish-swhoosh of a sheet left out to dry in the wind. Friends and bicycle rides and the sun thrumming heavy on my neck. Ice cream cones, the windows thrown open, inviting summer in.