Imagine you lived a different life.

This could be the road to your house on a mountainside.

On your way, you pass a field of granadilla vines. Then rows of vineyards with tight green grapes, neatly labelled: Merlot, Zinfandel, Shiraz.

There's a place to sit for a moment and talk. There are beehives further on, and the smell of fig trees. Brambles. A giant chestnut tree. A slope covered in agapanthus. If you're lucky, maybe the otter will dash past on his way to the river. Lizards sit on rocks, bathing in the late afternoon sun.

The sea is there, far away in the distance, lost in the haze.

When you eat your cool baby marrow soup on the terrace, this is what you see:

Even the bath overlooks the valley. At night there are frogs croaking. Each one has a name. And this is what you cover yourself with before you turn, and fall asleep.