I watched four minutes of my husband at our gas supply in the dark and I saved the clip to the folder called household and I went to work.
Eleven days.
Eleven days between watching that and a car park at an airport, and in all of them I did not ring anybody, because a man walking round his own house with a torch is not a thing that gets a unit sent, and because I knew exactly what the person on the other end of that call would have to say to me.
I know, because I am the person on the other end of that call. Forty
hours a week, for seven years.
And here is what I have had to take, and it is not about my husband at all.
