I’m in bed listening to the ear-worm in my head – “Lay your head upon my pillow, hold your warm and tender body close to mine…” – which is quite funny really because I am quite alone. I don’t know the time exactly but I’m guessing that it’s about six o’clock. I’ve been awake for a couple of hours, thinking and listening to this ear-worm… over and over. A train passed a while ago, lighting up the darkness behind my bedroom curtains, but not enough to illuminate the chaos at the end of my bed… our bed; I haven’t finished unpacking yet, five days on.

It’s a wonder I can hear the ear-worm over the sound of lashing rain, wind and waves… or maybe it is my subconscious trying to block out the English winter. The fog from long haul flying has cleared, almost, but still I can’t sleep through the night. I’m thinking about my last morning of waking up to sunshine – at five-thirty – and feeling the excitement of going home, also the stress of last minute packing and dread of the long haul ahead.

Chris has a bad cold and is sleeping upstairs, way upstairs at the top of the house (our bedroom is on the ground floor and there are two storeys between – “never twain shall meet”, just the train!). He doesn’t want to give me his cold and I don’t wish to receive it. But I’m all alone in bed, with Elvis Presley in my head (could be worse) and a mental picture of Sterling the cat upon my pillow… Oh, for the good times.

“For The Good Times”