I’m sitting in the dark of the junk room late on Sunday night, listening to Elton John and Brandi Carlile’s album “Who Believes in Angels”.

Somehow it’s half past midnight – or “half past my bedtime”, as my middle daughter might have said when she was young.

A little while ago – after receiving feedback that subscribers to my blog weren’t altogether happy with Substack marketing things at them – I tried switching to “Ghost” – an alternative online publishing platform.

I’m not really sure when we started watching Eurovision.

I answered an SOS call on Friday morning from a neighbour.

Do you ever have those moments where you look away, and several days pass?

After waking a little after 8am this morning, and packing our belongings into the back of the car, we took a final stroll into our temporary home.

After waking a little after 8 this morning I performed the inevitable gymnastics around the holiday cottage to have a shower and shave without punching windows, or drop-kicking deodorant cans, toothbrushes, or toilet rolls around the rooms like ping-pong balls.

I woke a little after 8 this morning in the grip of the memory foam matress that had mysteriously absorbed my body during the night – forming an odd blacmange mould of my entire frame.

After leaving home mid-morning and stopping at an oddly soul-less rest area en-route, we arrived in Hay on Wye early in the afternoon.