Once I’m satisfied that he’s moving easily, we tramp across the snow to a small slope. “God, I love that sound,” I sigh, listening to the krump krump as we stride along. “And don’t you just love the fresh cold? It feels cleaner here, and so bloody open. We’re so hemmed in, in London.” He looks at me sideways, shaking his head as if mystified by something. “What?” “You’re just so happy with simple things, Dylan.”
