Here I am in Kent with everyone else asleep. Everyone else in this case is my entire family, who I drove down here today. We're staying in a cottage run by two lovely people who have done a great job of renovating it. They left us tea, coffee, milk and cakes. Cakes! Homemade too.
From the kitchen table I can see the lights of ships in the Channel. As ever, I felt a distinct sense of being home as we drove into Kent. I don't come from here, neither do my parents, but it's where my family originated from and it's always had a special pull for me.
Last night I did one of the oddest things I've ever done. I opened the container which held my dad's ashes and spooned some of them into a small tin. That tin has stayed at home while the rest of it/him has come south with us. One day this week we're going to scatter his ashes in a place that meant a lot to him. Later in the year I'm taking the small amount in the tin, to London, to the place he had his happiest and most carefree days. It's all symbolic nonsense of course. But at the moment this feel like the right thing to do.
For tonight though, I'm going to have a glass of the local wine and get some sleep.