Lyn and I are sat out in our garden. It is early evening, and Paul has just poured us a pair of drinks. The air is still and warm, and apart from the tap tap of Paul’s knife on the chopping board as he prepares dinner in the kitchen, it is almost silent. In her flowery blouse and red trousers, Lyn looks beautiful, as she taps at her iPad. This is a moment of serenity, of that rare type of calm in which you realise how wonderful life is, and how lucky you are to be here, now, in this moment. All woe and worries seem gone; the only thing that matters is here, now, in this garden, and that thing is called love.