I've been thinking about being away from home, and why I've  found it so stressful over the last few weeks. Partly it's about rhythm - I'd be away for a couple of days, then back for three, then away for a day, and then back, and on and on for almost four weeks. I guess I never felt settled because I kept being on the brink of setting off again. I'm definitely not cut out to be a nomad.

But it's also about daily rituals - looking out of the kitchen window to see the colour of the sky when I make the morning tea, walking round the tile path to the bins at the front, checking the pond for frogs, noticing the newly arrived water boatmen. I even miss gazing at the unscenic view of the road outside when I can't think of the next word. That's probably why I took the picture above of the shadow of my office chimney with smoke coming out, seen from my desk. I was also putting off thinking of that next word, of course.

When I've lived away from home in the past I've always wanted to root myself quickly, to find a favourite shop to buy bread in, an evening walk up the hill to look at the view after work, people to meet up with for coffee ... It's not objects, particularly, that I miss. I lived out of suitcases quite contentedly when I spent months in France and Spain as a student - and it's even easier to take something of yourself away now, with ipods and laptops and mobile phones - I lugged a two-foot long radio cassette player to Spain on the train when I was 20, and a mountain of tapes made by my boyfriend. I still have them - all that Joy Division, A Certain Ratio, the Smiths, and a whole tape of 'bloody soppy songs' I made him compile. And it tooks weeks for letters to arrive from home, and I only spoke to my parents by phone after a long queue in the main post office in the city centre for a public booth, and after handing over huge amounts of pesetas, so that didn't happen often. So being away from people now seems easy - they're always within reach by mobile or email.

No, it's being home that I miss, being in the place where I fit, where I can wander out into the garden with a cup of tea in my dressing gown, and then hug the family before they leave for work and school.

Old smokey

Today's my first day back at my desk after what feels like weeks on the road - a slight exaggeration, if I'm honest, as I've been to-ing and fro-ing, and have been home quite a bit in between trips. But the thing is that for the past month I've had no more than a couple of consecutive days at home - quite a shock to the system for someone who gets excited at the thought of a trip into town for coffee. Anyway, today I'm home - I took this picture of my bag finally arriving back in my office to mark it. But just as I clicked the shutter my woodstove decided to pump out great gouts of smoke - no idea why, but I've had to open all the windows to clear the air, and have a rather more atmospheric shot than I meant.

I've no time to relax, of course - I've mountains of writing to do as a result of these trips. As soon as I've finished this post, and made a cup of coffee, I'll get to work before it all falls out of my head.

Better get to work!