There is a window in the wall, a window that is open, allowing the spring wind to fill the room – the awakening smell of flowers and grass, a wide valley with trees of fruit just waiting to be plucked with my pollen dusted fingers – and I am sitting on the window ledge, wishing I could climb through but I haven’t got the necessary equipment: no shoes to protect my feet from fallen twigs, no bucket to carry the fruit in. The walls inch ever-closer to each other, and I’m beginning to worry I might get stuck between them if I don’t find those shoes and a proper bucket.