It's a useful exercise to write down your perfect world. Mine might be textured in block colours. The honey perfume of rapeseed carried on a sapphire breeze and the asphalt bounce of beaten white trainers to the garden of rose friends whose laughter saturates torn jean adventures in cars driving fast with the windows down. Soul music, spicy food and books. The repeating remembrance that an hour is actually a very long time and I have many hours and I have many days.