Last Thursday I caught myself sniffing a library book in the queue at the post office, just to check if it still smelled like 1987. It did, sort of. I have a small tin of buttons I reorganise when I can’t sleep, arranged by how much they’d trust me. My left knee can predict rain with about the same accuracy as the local forecast, and I’ve learned to respect that. I sing to my radiator when it clanks, which is often. If you know the correct way to fold a fitted sheet, tell me immediately. I’ll probably ask for a diagram, then offer you a custard cream.