Not having money is on us like a clamp, uncomfortable, unwelcome. Mr has made a kitchen lampshade from a colander, clever chap. We have remeasured both the sofa and the space it has to be dexterously persuaded into the house; it doesn’t seem workable but the maths say otherwise. The sofa is the only thing we decidedly can’t strap to the car, there must be van hire. The expense of van hire is broachable; a sofa exchange takes time to organize, and, besides, we like the one we’ve got. It represents welcome comfort. It articulates to me, this is exactly how you were: uncertain that you could fit in here; that this house and this life would meld. It further reveals, this is how you can be: a little squeezed for space, a bit scuffed from the journey, but settled, rested, raring for subsequent escapade.