Underworld remixes and stale coffee on a Monday morning after a sleepless night spent replaying fragments of conversation in jittery nonsensical loops. It’s blue, clear and freezing outside and I can see a criss-cross lattice of frost running from my bicycle tyre to the outside drain. I’m glad I don’t have to ride anywhere today.

Facebook is wonderful for keeping in touch, but sometimes it’s too much information: a slice of ever-changing social interactions that seem so very far away these days. It’s been less than six months out east and already I’m beginning to scratch at the horizons and draw huge, looping arcs on the globe and plan connections in my head.

Last week, I read a blog post about catching a cargo freighter from Alaska to Osaka. Reconstituted eggs, burnt toast and sausage every morning at six with the non-English speaking crew and nothing but blue to the horizon, a tiny cabin, and a pile of books. Doesn’t that sound fantastic?