22 February 2013, 5.05pm.

I am in a small university office. The phone rings.

In the last month, my Facebook memories have been tracking the passing of a decade, and the situation I was in ten years ago, in unnerving real-time. There I am at my brother’s graduation in Bristol in January 2013 in my favourite bright orange dress, hours after realising that perhaps that wasn’t my period last week, given it only lasted a day. There I…