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My mother just asked me how to tune a mandolin. I don't know how many mandolins my stepfather left, but she keeps giving them away and then finding more. At least, that's what it feels like from here.

Now I'm thinking about all the things Mum finds that she doesn't tell me about. Sometimes it's a good thing to be the most-distant daughter.

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I'm beginning to realise that our childhood images of who we want to be and how we want to live leave deep impressions on us. Reading is that important.

Me, I wanted to be one of Joan Aiken's Armitages. The improbable was everyday. The family had a sense of wonder in almost everything, plus a matter-of-fact awareness that made the improbable possible and joyous rather than a thing of terror. I intend to revisit those stories very, very soon. In fact, the book's in the mail.

The mandolin situation and Elizabeth Chadwick's recent Facebook posts made me realise that I am a distant cousin of the Armitages, and that I live in an almost-Armitage reality.

Just as well I didn't admire the lives and lifestyles of the characters of my equally-favourite author. I don't really want to exist in a Dostoievsky reality.