I am craving some sunshine, a warm glow on my head. Some fresh flowers to sit on the hearth promising spring. Fresh coriander scattered on every meal, plump tomatoes fresh from my back yard.
I am wishing for a few more hours' sleep each week, a little less structure, a little more spontenaiety. I want to stay up late, lost in a book. I want to be able to stay up late, to have more will to read.
I am craving a fat glass of fizzy farm cider, a whole evening tucked in the corner of a pub. Belly laughs and a loss of all my coherence. A blurry slumbering daze to stumble in.
I'd love an evening on a sofa, watching episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm or Frasier one after the other. Gathering in one place with friends, drinking wine in pyjamas and discussing the finer points of sandwich fillings, French cinema and sex.
I am craving a day by the sea, wind in my hair, munching chips with a wooden fork and writing love messages in the sand. Edinburgh in the Spring as the daffodils appear, or a museum day in London.
Something is missing, somewhere, and I am on a search for it.