Sitting on the deck in the hot late afternoon sun, swatting at wasps, listening to the cardinal make his rounds, smelling the mildewed bedding roast. A glass of red, a big ratatouille in the fridge – one happy woman.

What a fine country this is, even with the cold and calculating Stephen Harper running it. Toronto is so big! There’s so much space, so much air, a sense of freedom. Yes, most streets of this city are ugly, but I love the casualness of life here. Imagine trying to tell a Canadian that there’s a right and wrong way to cut his cheddar. He’d think you’re mad.

All this to say – regular visits to Europe are I believe a necessity for the soul, to spend time in countries where what human beings have wrought through the centuries is both beautiful and respected. I have come home nourished to my very core. But I’m also glad to live in a country so open to the future, unbound by the past. It just feels unfettered and free.

And – be still my beating heart – my neighbour’s son has just told me he’s running a gourmet cheese shop which specialises in French cheeses. I may never leave home again.

I’ve spent a gruelling day beginning the great throw-out, and at this point I am thoroughly disgusted with myself. Friends kindly called me a packrat, but I was a hoarder, a sick person piling up stuff. Going to the Goodwill and then the Doubletake second-hand store around the corner was one of my daily treats, my hobby. I just kept buying for years, for decades – vintage chachkas, clothing for me and all my friends, coffee table books, junk. And now it’s all here and I’ve got to pile it up and get it out. The spare room is packed just with clothes to get rid of, much more to come. What use was all that stuff? It wasn’t that I needed it, no – it was that I needed to collect it. Something new to look at, to fondle, to try on.

Well, I don’t need it any more. OUT! Soon I will feel free not just in my city but in my closet.