I have often wondered how it might feel to carry the responsibility of devastating news. Nobody wants to be the one to break it, knowing that their words will bring someone else's world crashing down. But how would it feel to be faced with the task of informing loved ones of your own impending demise? If I had the chance, I would have asked my nan this question.She carried her cancer for months, telling no one. Determined, it would seem, to live her days in denial of . . .

A few weeks ago, I quit my Saturday job in a bakery. I'd had it for two years after leaving university. I miss it there, but every Saturday morning I am still relieved that I don't have to get up. My alarm would go at 4 am, and I'd leave the house by 4:30. I would walk through empty streets, meeting a few tipsy clubbers and very early joggers. I would pass the newspaper stand man setting up his . . .