She started to have moments of feeling out of sorts, out of self. Of feeling like, instead of being engaged and dancing for joy on the inside everytime her eyes opened to a new day, that there must be something lacking. There was no writing, no introspection and the anger surfaced more often than before, irrationally and without creativity. It almost seemed as though she had forgotten delight. Which she would have considered intrinsic to her nature.

“If I’ve forgotten who I am, perhaps it’s time to revisit where I’m from, perhaps I’ll see myself there. And if not, I’m sure I’ll have a lovely time playing at the seashore.” If a day at the seaside was enough motivation for James to commandeer a peach across England, then surely a truck named Nina, a dog named Gala and a girl named Trish will be in good literary company if they are also to undertake such an excursion.

Home will always be that. Sometimes you have to go away to come back. And so we shall.