. . . interesting that there is no resistance to leaving this idyllic little cottage by the river in the friendly village of Stanhope . . . and no pull towards any new place particularly . . . it seems like a journey that wants to happen and is happening in the space between aversion and desire . . . with three weeks to go before I set off, with my life in my rucksack, there is no discernible excitement . . . only equanimity in the inevitability . . .