There was an old red rug that I used to lie on in the garden. It was furry fiery orange red and it smelt of sunshine and warmth. When it got too hot or I tired of reading I’d roll onto the lawn and chew the white ends of sweet grass blades and make daisy chains and daydream grand romances. Our dog also loved that rug. She used to gather it up and hump it, even though she was a girl. I suppose she was daydreaming of grand romances too.