Poor February. I always feel it carries a huge burden in the form of January being over. This year, perhaps because January felt so particularly January, it seems even heavier. I’m writing this on the first day of February, which started shining and bright and has, by mid-afternoon, descended into the same flat grey of the days that preceded it. I’ve not posted a slideshow of semi-ironic photographs to Instagram as a “January round-up”, I’ve not said anything about Imbolc (there are writers - Lia Leenderz and Kerri ni Dochertaigh among them - who are better placed) but the paperwhites are blooming on the windowsill and I’ve noticed more birdsong about. The year is pregnant with possibility. I guess I am too. February, for me, will always be a month when roses are planted and pruned, a practice I find inherently more romantic than giving them.

How to savour when energy levels are low? It’s a question I’ve thought about a lot recently. Third trimester tiredness has kicked in after an otherwise straightforward ride and I’ve felt vaguely taken hostage by my own body. Sometimes I wonder what this newsletter offers when the world seems wearying and difficult, but in weeks like this - sleepless, listless, longing - I realise it encourages me to rattle back over the previous week and pick out the highlights. I’m really grateful for that, and gently suggest you do it too. In the meantime, thank you for joining me. Here are good things:...