Talking about every illness in the book

HOME, 4pm. I am up a step ladder, re-painting the sitting-room ceiling.

The first of four ceilings we are to re-paint over the Easter break — and having to explain the difference between the common cold and pneumonia to my daughter; she lies below me on the sofa, striking a consumptive pose, such as the one Elizabeth Barrett Browning might have struck while dying in her husband’s arms.

If I was to paint a portrait of my daughter now, I consider, rolling Dulux back and forth with aching arms, I’d call the portrait simply, “Lassitude.”