for the first coffee of the day, my knee-high brown leather birthday boots, my £2 woolly gloves. The coffee beans from Monmouth that Nic & Leonie left, laughing until my belly aches, the leaps of faith, the smell of Mum’s ginger cake baking, feeling my heart breaking, feeling unbreakable. The existence of Leonie, Sus, Pen, Jo, Emma, Mighty Meg and Lisa: my teachers. My love of literature, my curious brain. Mozart flute concertos, water on skin, the smell of freshly cut grass. The weekend papers in bed with Science Guy, lying in the sunshine in a London park, the duck pond in the Wellington Botanical Gardens. That night I stumbled upstairs out of a fire-exit and finding myself on a roof staring at Turkish stars. That breakfast in which I met Tor & Marianne. Little Brother at Brisbane’s arrivals gate. The strength and rhythm of my body running. The lessons in everything. The particle physicists and philosophers. New friends. Old friends. London Underground’s sense of humour. The clarity of understanding that he isn’t my problem to solve anymore. The Divine Ms G, Ms Megan’s bravery (hello ‘twatcockery’), the existence of Bea. An open fire and a glass of red wine. Sitting in a cardboard box aged six. Spooning in bed, giggling in the dark. The sound of the rushing waves on Warrington beach deserted, reading in bed while it rains with Badger purring beside me. Dreams and plans with Science Guy. Mum dying so young, the rage, the sadness. Skype. Our wedding plans. The colours everywhere: the sheer joy of being human.

If the only prayer you said in your whole life was, ‘thank you’, that would suffice ~ Eckhart

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