After setting the alarm clock to go off at 7am this morning – affording me an hour to have a wash, get dressed, and get to the railway station, my wonderful body of course decided that 6am was a much better time to be waking up.

At some point yesterday – nearly five days later than planned – and now with most of the holiday gone when I might have stage managed the migration smoothly and expertly – “The” blog has appeared at the place it should have appeared several days ago.

This morning you find me holed up in a corner of Wetherspoons – escaping from the world for an hour.

After a dinner-table conversation last weekend, somehow I agreed to escort my eldest daughter to a nearby town with a ginormous shopping centre.

After escaping the house a little after 9am this morning, we made our way to the local railway station, collected tickets, and jumped on the first post rush-hour train towards London.

After watching the inexorable march of Substack towards the same commercially driven hellscape as countless platforms before it, I’ve been scouting around for alternatives.

In the midst of feeling pretty depleted last night, a wonderful friend reminded me that I have nine days to make my own stretched out in front of me.

While brushing my teeth a few days ago, it occurred to me that I haven’t been sick for quite some time.

While taking a break from work this morning, I wandered into the kitchen and decided that the clothes rack had been standing in everybody’s way for quite long enough.

A few days ago while walking home from town the cogs at the back of my brain started turning.