A home, anyway, for where, really, is home? Here, where I grew up, I find the garden flowers waiting for me, guarded over by my second soft toy, Cat (why will that surprise no one?) and a Sheepy from a couple of decades later (my first toy, Charlie Lamb, was indeed a Lamb - I think he's in a cupboard in the kitchen here, wrapped in polythene against the potential ravages of moth. Cat, I see, has pretty much lost all his fur - and what fur remains has turned a mossy green - and he has a loose ear and a split in his tail: it's very strange to look at him now and think that he's pretty much a historical artefact.
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