Walk out the front door and before my left foot hits the path I look up and the slim crescent is swinging up over Cobbles the Clown’s rooftop. A curvy razor smile with bloody teeth and the bottom lip bee-stung ultraviolet.

Saturday springlike: a dollop of spawn in the pond. After lunch, climb up to the moor, gorse beginning to buzz, coconut yellow, grasses pale white straw, sides scabbed with brown, charcoal stumps, low cloud trailing fog white mist along the backs of furry ponies and sweetheart-faced sheep. The scaffolded prison dripping misery.