One day we were in a café and you pointed out an advertisement for a house sitter. With your encouragement I rang and left a message.

Within a month I had moved to Wellington and a loneliness I thought would kill me.

My skin became a sieve, my depression a trenchcoat, and hope mocked me.
I wrote “There is nothing more disheartening than to not believe in something and soul destroying when that something is you.”

All I could do was paint. I had a painting on the glass dining table in the house I was looking after. I painted for 8 or more hours a day and when I wasn’t painting I was writing, crying or sleeping.