It’s bleak and blustery outside, with wind and rain and brooding grey skies – in short, typical Cornish weather. My journey down here was transformed into a bit of a saga thanks to some serious fog at Manchester Airport- resulting in a near-three-hour delay on the flight, which took a certain amount away from the ‘hey, air travel is just as much as the train, and a lot quicker!’ It was my first time doing it this way, though, and the actual journey part (once we got off the ground, and past the interminable waiting) was over ridiculously quickly, which was something of a relief, since I was (a) rather emotionally fragile and (b) running on only three hours of sleep. Since arriving, I’ve been realising exactly how tired I am – a combination of hard work and bad sleep has left me very fatigued, and a certain proportion of the holiday is simply going to be me, staring off into the distance, enjoying the simple act of not doing anything.

I’m also slowly getting to a more philosophical place relating to my current life situation. There’s been plenty of time to think about it, combined with a couple of things happening which I’m going to draw a discrete veil over, but I’m starting to feel like I really don’t want to be angry about this anymore, and that I’m looking forward to a point where the bruises will go down, and I’ll be able to think about the good stuff without it hurting quite so much. I’m surviving, I’m coping, and I’m aiming towards the future in a number of intriguing directions, and that’s something I’m fairly happy with right now. I’ve got four-and-a-half more days down here (including meeting up with Tris on Monday, which looks to be (weather permitting) a seriously fun bit of adventure), and I’m going to do my best to enjoy them.