I endeavour each morning, when that darkness is most heavy, to concentrate on the small, the sensual and the pleasurable. There’s the rather saccharine but not unpleasant smell of my banana-scented bubble bath; there’s the bath itself, slightly hot as it thaws away the cold of me; there’s the music from Radio 3, sometimes divine other times not so, and the warm sweetness of my breakfast baked apple. Yesterday it was the taste of Assam tea. I usually drink Lapsang Souchong – I love that hint of smoke – but yesterday I tried the Assam. It was dark, rich and strong. Lovely. I thought of her and the pot she usually has of it in her garden first thing. She takes such care of things – in her slow, measured way. She isn’t a rusher like me. I think of her often when I want to be more mindful. I fall short, always.
