8pm. My husband and I are running inexcusably late for a dinner party; he’s half-in, half-out of a pair of crumpled trousers in one bedroom, while I’m half-in, half-out of a barely-worn pair in another.

London. 4 pm. I’m on my way to meet James, the man I lived with before I met my husband.

I am in my London sister’s flat, on my best behaviour after doing handstands in her bedroom.

I am in the Victoria and Albert museum with my brother who is just back from Kabul. 

11. 30. I’ve just arrived in England, where I’m staying with my sister for three nights.

I’m in neurology outpatients. Just a routine follow-up. 

My mother is coming to visit us in our new house. She is determined to stay in a local hotel. The one with the nice marmalade.

I am switching mobile phone providers. This morning, on day three of trying to activate a new phone sim card, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, in front of my laptop.