‘Sometimes, I think he feels it’s safer to chat through a dog’

9PM, at home in our new town house. The nuts and bolts of selling our old farmhouse have been accomplished, but the buckles and braces require some attention.

Tonight’s agenda has included searching for a colander, box of important paperwork, dog–lead and pair of cycling shoes with cleats on.

9.05pm. We decide to abandon our search, and adjourn the discussion that has been accompanying it: How on earth our new, very compact, open–plan living arrangements might accommodate the sounds of televised soccer, cricket, and rugby matches.