A garage, near the South African border

I just had a rather surreal moment. I walked into the garage and heard a familiar voice. It took me a couple of minutes to place it, but I eventually twigged it was Christian O'Connell, on Virgin FM – the voice that I used to wake up to when I was working in London. I'm feeling very torn at the moment, and I'm swinging rapidly between mild homesickness, and wanting to strike out on my own for several months more. I'm just reading Ranulph Fienes's autobiography, actually, and while I'm not minded to trek solo to the North Pole any time soon, the idea of rafting or canooing and camping on The Yukon, or somewhere in the Northwest Territories appeals. In any case, we're just about to cross the river on the border – as Kipling described it, 'The Great Greasy Grey-Green Limpopo River'.

It's probably all talk, though. I rather like doing the odd holiday here or there. Not sure I'd really want to be away on my own for months at a time...