We moved house. I started to work for myself. Ate a lot of stew. It snowed, often, rooftops dusted as though an all-seeing child had spilled a tin of icing sugar from a perch in the sky. Our bones creaked as we re-acclimatised to northern European climes after months within reach of the equator. We got to know a new town, somewhere quiet and unfussy, less demanding than London. The snowdrops bloomed, as they always do. Light danced as the days lengthened. We walked and talked, and talked and walked, as we always do.