“I feel low-grade anxiety pat about on my insides”

I’M STUFFING an onion up a chicken’s bottom. My husband’s sitting at the kitchen table, surfing for bike gadgets online and peeling potatoes.

“You’ve got an email,” he says. It’s from our 21-year-old son, studying for a year in North Carolina. I turn the radio off quickly with chickeny fingers and ask him to open it.

He reads aloud: “Hi Mum and Dad. Survived the earthquake, now just gotta get through Hurricane Irene and we’ll be fine. Can’t wait for it. All the people here are scared. The one state that Obama has declared an emergency state is North Carolina. Can’t wait to stand outside on the green and feel the winds and stuff. Over 100 mph in Florida already. Don’t worry.”