The garden swap is no longer a rumour, confirmed by Stanley in the Post Office queue, delivered like state secrets between envelopes and cough drops. “Bring something useful, or ridiculous. Either works.” I’m not sure what I have to offer.

My colander is well-used, earnestly dented, and has survived two house moves and one shared office kitchenette. But it leaks hope — and possibly spaghetti. I considered swapping a teacup, but they’re all attached to stories, and I can’t give away the one with the chip yet.

Still, I like the idea. Give something. Get something. Leave space for the unexpected.