There’s a softness that comes with waking up somewhere warm, worn out from doing very little. On the first morning it happens, sheet kicked into rough twist by our feet, I realise that we’re away; that we’ve left the country for the first time in two years. It has taken time to get here, and it takes me time to sink in. Our bodies, our minds, have been through such strange things. I have coped mostly by filling all those newly empty hours with things to do: writing and deadlines and taking on new projects. Here, there is none of that. The day stretches out, and at first the sheer length of it is dazzling. In the night, I find myself awake with TV theme tunes ricocheting around my head, wrestling with the complexities of small nothings.

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