Reading a book my nan sent from Lagos and she's written notes in the margins—disagreeing with the author, asking questions, talking back to it. My London mates treat books like holy objects. Don't even crease the spine. Who reads like your nan?

Flat's been quiet all week. No builders, no neighbours arguing, nothing. Should feel peaceful but instead I'm anxious I'm missing something. When did silence become suspicious?

Noticed my Nigerian mum asks "what's the point?" about things, while my British mates ask "why not?" Same situation, opposite instincts. Wonder which one's actually kept you safer.