I hadn’t really left the house in weeks, and had taken to sleeping on the sofa. When I tried to sleep in the bed it felt as if there were no edges, and I could end up expanding indefinitely.

I would often wake up at around 7am, just as the light was starting to appear through the thin blinds. Always at this time I would hear someone sweeping in the street below. Every morning - sweep, sweep, sweep, sweep. The sound and the regularity were extremely comforting.

One day my self-imposed isolation was broken by a group of workers cleaning the tiles on the opposite rooftop. Three or four men sitting in the winter sun, with the sea behind them and the wind passing by. I watched as they wiped the lichen from the terracotta; unhurried, quiet. Occasionally someone would perch on a ladder with a tray of tea and everyone stopped for a break.

Here it feels that people take gentle pride in the work that they do, with the simplest of tasks being done with great care and attention. It seems to me that this comes from an enormous respect for life.

First, life is allowed to exist. Second, it is cared for. 

You can see this in the way that animals are looked after. They aren’t necessarily owned, but they are always given shelter, water, food, and an endless stream of attention and affection.