The last eight months have been incredibly busy- rushing towards a faraway date in November with increased intensity as the amount of time left grew less & less. Enquiring, writing, organising and meeting commitments (or sometimes not) along a self-elected path. Enjoying time with my family and friends but knowing with certainty that I should have been doing more of it for longer. No-one else to blame but me.

 Never before have I set out for anywhere in such a rush. Closing the front door with my fingers crossed, leaving some undone things in the hands of others for which my grateful thanks. I despatched the Sailing Gaffers manuscript a few hours before I left, and posted final letters on my way to the airport. No hassle though; I made it to ‘Coryton International’, my local end-of-the-single-track-line railway station with four minutes to spare. Twenty-eight hours later I was with Betty viewing houses for sale along the beach in Christchurch, South Island. Standing on the top of a sand dune on the edge of a city, a 180 degree arc of empty horizon was spread before us. Long-distance ocean rollers washed onto a wet sandy beach that disappeared into a shimmering blue haze in each distant direction. There was not a soul in sight.