Having your own home, even your own room, equates to freedom and necessary privacy. All older women should have such a place

At the end of 2014, my husband and I sold every last pot and pan, every stick of furniture we owned – we even sold my house. To fund a year-long adventure overseas. Eight months later, I was forced to return to Australia under terrible circumstances. My husband had shockingly, and unexpectedly, died from a heart attack in Portugal. Obviously, there is no good time for your husband to die, especially in a foreign country, but death came for him at the worst possible time for me.

Our arrogant assumption was that, once the money had run out, we’d simply pick up jobs and accommodation back home. But this proved impossible. We’d used up all our savings. I had no job. And, critically, I was alone.