We have just spent five hours flying East from Los Angeles to Miami. Five hours to go back over one month of driving. It feels simultaneously slightly ridiculous and actually rather awe-inspiring. This country is huge – how people actually managed to make it to the West Coast on foot and on horseback back in the day I have no idea.

Given the amount we have crammed into a month, it feels like we have been on the road for ages. However, given we decided to start our trip with a drive across the States, there was no Big Moment Of Arrival in a foreign country and hence no real feeling of departure. As a result, time has been playing little tricks on us: in Washington DC it felt like we were away for a long weekend. In Kentucky it felt like we had taken a week’s holiday. In Texas it felt like we had managed to sneak in a rare two week holiday (although the concept of an actual, untrashed two week holiday without being interrupted every single day by work emails and calls is completely unfamiliar to both of us). Only once we got into the canyonlands after two-plus weeks did it start to feel like something longer. Like gardening leave, perhaps? Who knows.

A hippie interlude if I may (Lucy has them occasionally, so why can’t I?). I honestly can’t remember a time in my life when I have been outside at night in the countryside for a long enough period of time to be aware of the moon waxing and waning.

But, like, dude, what does it meeeeeaan? Well, it’s been four weeks and I need a haircut – that’s what it means.