A belated bright spots, for the week that was: the night a storm threatened, the air crisp and crackling, clouds racing overhead like skaters on a pond. Dusk arrived early and there was a bite to the air so we stood by the stove and between us stirred risotto, rich with lemons and salty stock, the remnants of a courgette, a halved cauliflower and long lashings of spinach. Reading in bed, mostly this book, which was everything I hoped it would be. I enjoyed the crisp crackle of the pages as my eyes raced across its pages, full of stories so incredible you’d think they couldn’t possible be real but that they are – real as they come. A night of small plates, blood orange soda and girl talk (giggles), the pavements outside slick with rain. Feeling happier, more contented, in my choices —for what will be will be. My grandfather, dancing into the room with a cup of tea and my grandmother, always chuckling about something. The tomato plants, which grew several inches in a week! Anticipation for my first trip to the far, far east – see you soon, Singapore & Saigon! Wrapping up odds and ends at work, appreciating the grey and the gloom. A lunchtime walk with a favourite colleague, discovering a churchyard rampant with forget-me-nots, late spring blooms. Taking the long route home. The sandwich and carrot cake he brought home on Sunday, eaten in the southern light of our dining table, his eyes hazel and sparkling. My family, their health and happiness, and him – family now, too. I’m so grateful for it all, this week more than ever.