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... nothing when you get back to a dead cable modem. Hence my taking up residence in an internet cafe (fine, actually, though odd checking emails in public). Did CM die due to a week's neglect. Cats when left for a period tend to spend the next week peeing on cushions; with the computer and peripherals it's evidently more the solid stuff that hit us. Sighs.

Getting home was hard enough, what with weather and novel choice of route. And the navigator not being warned in advance about the need for map reading until too late.

Dragging self back was harder too. Home, where's that? It isn't, for all the years I've lived here, Cambridge. Chances of getting job in West Cumbria, let alone all the usual complications, I guess are slight. Silicon Valley it isn't.

But, breathing in beside Wastwater and tasting the air--even with the pervasive scent of burning fleeces--hurt. I can't hold my breath to keep it in.

Driving up a week ago, the sky was still light, with the reddish sunset still lining the edge of the fells, at 11.30. That's home, as far as I'm concerned.

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