Early April 1999
I'm sat under an apple blossom tree near the River Dolphin. It's green, mossy and tranquil. It's dull but there's a refreshing, gentle breeze. I look down. There's white blossom laying on the moss. I pick up what I think at first is blossom then a bit of plastic and [then I] am astonished to turn it and find it's the bigger half of a delicate yet strong, birds egg. At first my [bird] phobia comes to the fore as I feel its inner dampness, but it seems totally empty. It's a beautiful 'duck egg' bluey/turqoise/pastel/grey. Being cossetted under this tree is something I've longed for, for a long time. It's Easter Sunday and it's the first time I've not dreaded the thought of a mad return [to work]. I've...