I silently asked every man I dated to make me happy. I placed every hope of a more fulfilled life on their shoulders. And when the happiness and fulfilment didn't come, I found in them something lacking, turned my back and left.
That much-loved question, ‘So, what do you do?’ is supposed to be a request for information about our working life. But a few years ago I think an alternative and accurate response might have been something like:
It was spring and I was standing on a path in the cemetery, mesmerised by a robin perched atop a gravestone, singing his song at full throttle.
I was close enough to see his little throat dance as the sweet notes left his beak and swirled out into the wild tangle of this place.