As she moved the pictures around our flat, the woman with long dark hair complained to me that she hated her name. I suggested that if she really wanted to do so, she could change it from Sharon to something else that she preferred.

However, I was less interested in what she was called and more bothered that she had taken many of our pictures out of their frames and pockmarked the canvases with drawing pin holes. They would be worth absolutely nothing now.

As if in compensation AM passed by the house and gave me half a wooden model fir tree painted red for Christmas. Her visit also gave me the opportunity to ask her why she carried a stock of out of date headache tablets and antibiotics in the small soap bag that she carried everywhere.