Two years. That’s how long since a man I used to call my friend ghosted me. At first I was upset. I thought I had done something wrong. I examined my behaviour for months and months, always coming back to the inescapable fact that a person who used to contact me to catch up had ceased doing so. For no reason I could see. Well, not entirely. Two years ago I was full of enthusiasm for my art career. After 50 years doing other things I was finally getting back to what I had originally, in my youth, wanted to do. Make art. My friend and I went to a movie. I got a call on my phone and had to leave the theatre and it was something I couldn’t ignore. I couldn’t put this person off. It’s like that sometimes. When I had finished my call, not wanting to disturb other patrons, I left the theatre. I had to pick up some prints from my print shop not far from the cinema anyway. And the movie was dull. So it’s been two years. I don’t want you to feel sorry for someone as inconsequential as me, that’s...