June. Going Away. Two days until we leave. The clothes have been washed, folded and packed. The kids’ hand luggage is organised. The passports have been rediscovered and arrangements are made for the handing over of keys, the care of the hamster, the watering of the garden and the harvesting of vegetables. I have caught up on my emails, made ‘phone calls I have been putting off.

The house is unnaturally orderly. We are eating whatever is left in the refrigerator and if I remember I will clean it before we go. Tomorrow night we will attend School Play number 2 and then that’s it: sleep and go. We won’t be here. Life will continue without us.

Two days. Two days left, it feels like - and yes, I do want to go, the trip was my idea - but I have to admit that I’m in mourning for all the writing I won’t do while we are away. Two days to go means good-bye to these quiet, regular days of moving on through the story and making serendipitous discoveries on the way; good-bye to finding that the pieces do eventually fall into place. It’s good-bye, characters: you will just have to contact me however and whenever you can. Of course I will leave the back door of my mind open; I’ll carry my notebook and pencil with me at all times. Sometimes missing you will keep me awake and I will get up in the middle of the night while everyone else is asleep and think about you. But mostly I will be too busy and I just have to hope you don’t sulk too much and take it out on me when I come back.

Goodbye to the imaginary world, and to our ordinary daily life, to our friends, to the birds and the butterflies. Hello, whatever is next. What on earth was I thinking of? At least we are going together.