Outdoors is sharp and bright as a new knife. The air ambulance has helicoptered past my window, I can’t see the landing point. Not in our fields- too steeply tipped and topped by electricity cables. I would rather be out fending off the wind than sat in my office but I can see the moors from here and the windows are open. I can breathe the cold air. My real office is a windowless unheated cupboard, so the alternative is to sit in bed and type. Rectangles of paper-clipped chits are recorded and stuffed in envelopes, this is how the accounts are sorted out. This is what people mean when they speak of reality; organising receipts. It is certainly not a dream, but the birds singing in the trees, shoring up their nests, that is the real world to me. The moor peaks are in shade, except where one cloud is missing. One bright oblong of hillside shines like a beautiful smile.
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