Her arms wrapped around my body, holding me tightly so I wouldn't fall. We were swinging slowly back and forth in a gentle, meditative haze. My small body encased in a puffer jacket; it must have been winter. I remember the bricks on the wall that were grey, as dull as the sky and sea. These moments were captured by my grandfather, but did they seize what we experienced or am I shutting off particular parts?

The place we drove past that sold gargoyles and garden ornaments is now very different. Can you class a traffic cone as an ornament? Decorative and bold, shining in the car lights.