There are goats too

I like it here. I like my job. I like deciding after a long day to keep driving past my driveway and getting lost on dirt roads between recently mown lucerne fields and knee high corn plants dancing in the wind. I like the way the dust billows out behind the tyres, and how the ruts shudder up into the steering wheel as the galahs and cockatoos rise out in front of me.

I like sitting up in bed and getting a call to come in and doing something helpful and useful. I like filling in my diary at the end of the day and working out my billings. I like sitting back on the couch in absolute silence with the BBC's production of Emma (very pretty, almost as good as P&P).

There is something about big lungfuls of crispy clean air that makes life very worth living. But at night, curled up in my single bed in the deep dark silence, I miss Bingley. I know he's missing me too.