The communication generation: a perfect perusal of a purple patch

The day dawned softly on that first morning, as lost in a reverie she gazed into the middle distance.

Pulling her treasured late mother's frayed lilac woollen cardigan around her pyjama-clad body she shivered a little.

Then with a deep sigh she began to collect her scattered thoughts. Then with a start she remembered that they had moved the previous day into a duplex in a very smart part of another town.

Realising that she had been sitting on her antique French chair for some time she wriggled a little to make herself more comfortable. All around the room were boxes of much treasured possessions that had been deemed too important to go into storage.

Her awareness of the vision that stretched out languorously before her was only just beginning to pierce her scattered consciousness.