It was the anniversary of Paul's death. I felt maudlin and had booked a 'get away from it all' Airbnb in the dales. It was at the end of a long grass track, about two miles from the nearest road. The road itself was little more than a single track. The webpage had said it had slow WIFI, it had electricity, and it had a wood-fuelled AGA wood stove that also heated the water and the cottage in winter. It sounded perfect. I...