Acres of rails became bare. In considering how to start again, I took into account my occupation as a writer, our drafty Georgian house where I mainly work, and our young baby, who uses all clothes indiscriminately as handkerchiefs. Then, once the wardrobe was lined with cedar (a moth deterrent, people say), I bought a round-necked jumper the colour of oatmeal and another that looks like heather, both soft as rabbits. I feel a thrill knowing they’re on the shelf, and go upstairs just to stroke them. Three plain muslin blouses followed, for meetings, and then – the pièce de résistance – a bespoke, wine-coloured coat that I plan to be buried in, like a pharaoh with his bucket of gold (because it cost about that). While the fab¬¬ric was pinned, I forgave the moths their feasting, which has been a reminder about the pleasures of owning fewer, lovelier things. But let’s hope it’s true about the cedar.