By the time fruit was dropping from the apple trees in late summer, the novel experience of living a castaway’s existence was wearing a bit thin, with visits from friends a distant memory. The idea of inventing social scenarios began to take shape; although my visitors here are a poor substitute – a shadow of life. The limbless form of the Taylor’s dummy on one side of the table is reduced even further on the other to the head and spine of a mop. It is a memento mori in the midst of an oddly fruitful time.