The week ends, the deal in Plovdiv, Bulgaria is looking promising, and Henry and I step gratefully out of the office into the cool air. We are late for our train (back to Newbury, where Henry lives and I am spending the weekend) and so we run, leap in a cab, run some more, and arrive, breathless, at Platform 11 of Paddington station, where we hurl ourselves into the already packed coach and speed north and west out of London.
When we arrive, I breath my first breath of country air, clean and clear and cool and reminiscent of the gardens at Thorpe, the hillsides of Grimault, and the fields of White House (not to mention the ever-present hills of West Marin). Henry and his wife Clare live in a brick house in a small village surrounded by endless paths crossing through fields and woods (over hill and through dale as puck would say). It is simple and warm and distant from the exciting but exhausting City. We eat sumptuous meals, and drink endless cups of tea (an occupation not terribly feasible in the hustle of London life, or at worK). I read for long hours and play with Olivia, the adorable one-year-old daughter of Henry and Clare. We spend hours talking, and I go for a long walk through the woods. It is cool, but not freezing. Clares's sister comes over for a Christmassy afternoon, and we drag in a Christmas tree and watch Olivia unwrapping early presents. It is perfectly sublime, simple wintry bliss. In the evening we eat a feast of Pork Belly and then watch The X Factor. I am shocked to find that I am the only person not an avid fan. All the others have been watching since the initial trials months ago, and I just happen to have arrived on the night of the final. So we watch the various bizarre performers (from an unexciting guy with a guitar to a gutsy soul singer and a hip young rapper,  and the horrific Boy Band). We submit our own scores and critiques before hearing the official ones. Rihanna and Christina Aguilera make guest appearances, and ultimately the unexciting guy wins. We are equal parts fascinated and disgusted by the glitz and the popularity of this show (which has 20,000,000 viewers in England, a third of the population).

I fall asleep laughing.