The Toxic Inner Critic is behind this craving for perfection, surely? The Parent voice? The hectoring voice? The ‘moral’ voice?

Never satisfied. Always looking for a weakness. Always sniffing out a problem, an inconsistency, a dreadful flaw.

Richard Grannon’s mantra is ‘Good enough is more than enough for me.’ He came up with this idea of good-enoughness as a teenager – imagine that! A teenager – while he was living in Portugal among wolves – being raised by wolves. Then one day the Alpha wolf – the pack leader, an amazingly accepting, generous, infinitely wise wolf called Ranwa – was struck by lightning and died and Grannon had to step up to the mark and fight his beloved wolf brother, Simco, for the head role. Simco was a good and kind wolf but he was weak. He was indecisive. So Grannon honestly had no option but to challenge him for dominance. For the well-being – nay, survival – of the entire wolf community.

Uh-oh.

Do you see that?

Do you see how the Toxic Inner Critic is trying to belittle Grannon with a blitzkrieg of blithe sarcasm?

Ha ha ha.

Grannon wasn’t raised by wolves. Although from what Charles can deduce Grannon spent part of his childhood in a Portuguese commune, which isn’t really that different, is it? A commune in Portugal?

Oh, it’s all so enviably cosmopolitan.

Charles suspects that Richard Grannon speaks about five different languages. He imagines that Grannon has a ‘smattering’ of German and passable Thai and that he would positively thrive in Brazil.

Richard Grannon speaks his excellent English with a broad Scouse accent (more marked when he’s feeling especially ebullient or pissed or tired).

Richard Grannon adheres to the fight/fawn archetype.

Charles has made quite a study of this by watching all his posts on YouTube.

(That’s quite a lot of posts.)

Grannon teaches that you should closely study the people you admire and try to actively impersonate the good qualities you find in them. This is an NLP strategy.

Grannon isn’t just a therapist, remember? He’s a life coach.

He is receptive.

He is flexible.

He is open to change.

Avigail doesn’t actually lock the door behind her (there are too many locks – Charles is a freak) but leaves it on the latch (even though she has a spare set of keys) and quickly turns left down Ty Isa Road, heading back towards Trevor Street. Avigail really loves Trevor Street despite its unbearable, seasonal gull problem. It’s very close to the seafront and the houses on one side are pebbledash cottages, all set back behind low, stone walls with nice, manageable gardens. On the other side are the traditional, seaside terraces: two-storey but with sweet, little pitched windows in every roof. There’s a polite, artisan vibe on the left, offset by a more traditional, seaside feel on the right. Nothing too arty-farty.

Cocktails?!

Charles is a pest.

A pest.

Avigail reaches the near end of Trevor Street and stands there, firmly planting her feet, sternly squinting up it.