I can never be certain of my lunacy - in literal terms, as in, temporary madness connected to the moon’s cycles - but it often seems to be the case that I will be feeling especially wakeful, or anxious, or hyperactive, or emotional and later learn that the moon had been full. This evening the Harvest Moon will reach its peak after rising yesterday. It’s the last super moon of the year, a year in which I have spent many evenings indoors, swapping the glow of anything in the sky for that of a baby monitor. This week, though, this busy and careering week (meetings! events! lunches! afternoon negronis!) I have enjoyed watching it rise between the trees. This time next month their canopies will be less full, and it’ll be a new year before we see such an orb in the sky.

Call it the moon, call it impending travel, call it matrescence: I have been wakeful, I have been anxious, I have felt my tether run short. There isn’t much to savour about that and yet there have been good things a plenty even in the whirligig of it. Delirious gags about dragons in voicenotes to friends with good news, watching the sullen fishmonger break into a smile at the baby (who was, embarrassingly, sullen back), a spontaneous, sneaked swim on Tuesday afternoon.

Those are the crumbs, these are the morsels, scrape them together and there’s a plateful enough. Good things this week:...