This morning a storm battered southern England. The leaves that me and Erica worried would never fall are mostly on the ground. I feel a bit battered, too. Life is very relentless and I have a long to-do list every single day.

In the summer, I had to be constantly looked after. There were periods when I spent most of my days in bed and Mum had to hold my hand. I became a little homesick on Friday, I suppose because of a thought that bobs to the surface: There is no one here, away from home, to look after me. To wash up after me and buy me food, to make sure there is always milk in the fridge. That’s what I am learning about—looking after myself. The novelty of London has worn off. I feel like I live here now, that it is not just a holiday, because of the mundane chores that never stop having to be done.

After writing this, I need to go to my doctor’s appointment, an appointment I made myself. Shamefully, I’d never done that before. I have to make sure I get there, I have to ask for a repeat prescription, I have to find a pharmacy, pick up and pay for that prescription. It’s such an ordinary thing, really, but it will mean so much if I can do it. ♦