Email mountain is down to c.1900. Nothing pre-Cambrian exists in the inbox. Some still to be marked as read, some subscriptions to be deleted. Audible trying to tempt a return, bloody Emma Bridgewater making more gorgeous stuff, dammit, and ironically, the Stoic guy’s newsletter which I skim-read, nod along to and return to my merry non-Stoical ways. Consistent at least. During the mind-numbing, sometimes poignant, process of ridding the past,...