Facts are not my thing; reality is not my bag

• I cannot stop thinking about how Branwell became a hundred times more noticeable after he painted himself out of that portrait. He’s all I can see.

• I needed a big, big needle in my hip to get up that big, big hill in Haworth. Today was the day. I didn’t cry. I might borrow a cane and be a country gent.

• The village ‘clings to the edge of the West Yorkshire moors’ – how lovely is that? I’m quite clingy myself, so I get it.

• I wake up thinking about Charlotte and fall asleep thinking about Emily. Anne has yet to haunt me. Give it time.