V has raised again the possibility of my buying a little flat, as a work space and for visitors to stay. (Renting is anathema to him: ‘money down the drain’.) Tried to stay calm. Asked him if he could see any other way of resolving our situation about the flat. I can’t remember what (if anything) he said. I have a pathetic, unspoken hope, or fantasy, that one day he’ll say, ‘Look, we can solve it all in one simple stroke: I’ll rent an office.’ So many times this suggestion has been blasted away that I know it’s never going to happen. He offered to speak to a real-estate agent for me, to a tax accountant. I’m being very firmly pushed. Horrid little spurts of fear.