I cross my fingers and reach out to this gathering hope in the midst of new misery. My mother asked me on Tuesday what was good in my life - and for a bleak moment I struggled to answer the question. Yes, the hecs stuff is painful and needlessly so, yes, things with M are about as depressing as they can be, but these are not life tragedies. So I ladle hope from the small stuff. The happy stuff that sustains me.

An instructor yesterday at the gym:

"I once went out with a contortionist from the Philippines. She was a Manila Folder" - it buoyed me with giggles for several minutes.

This morning the polite, smiling and infinitely switched on guy in the Land Cruiser in the merging lane next to me. Consideration is a beautiful thing.

And now, in the midst of all this, comes a possibility. Maybe I won't be successful, but the fact that I've been pre-selected is already such a boon. Ten years of administration does a lot to wear down one's self esteem.

So I reach out to the gathering hope. I hold onto Paul in the mornings, full of espresso and tell myself that 30 is not too old to be alone. I feel the grass crunch underfoot when I collect the washing, and I reassure myself that there is still time for a Hills Hoist of my own.