JOEL GRIFFETT

Six weeks just flew by in five minutes. Standing in almost the exact same position outside the terminal as the evening of my departure, marvelling now at the grey afternoon skies and wondering whether it was a mistake not to have put my trousers back on before I emerged from Heathrow, I began to think it was all a dream. How could six weeks feel like such a blur? To be fair, I only count it as five weeks, because unfortunately my last week was a write-off, wiped out entirely by illness.

I had planned one more detour, south to a small town called Lampa near Puno where I had heard about a mysterious library, the personal collection of a retired mining engineer from the town. Eight thousand books on a wide array of subjects beckoned me forth but God had other plans for my stomach. It could have been a waste of time, but the idea of a detour always entices me. Instead, it was a waste of money – all the money I paid to get there down the toilet.

On Monday night the illness arrived and early on Tuesday morning I was supposed to fly to Juliaca, not far from Puno and Lake Titicaca. Just like last year, southern Peru came calling but due to circumstances beyond my control, I still haven’t seen this part of the country. Instead, I remained in the warmth of Lima. Now back in the UK, I am somewhat glad I didn’t go anywhere cold in my last week in Peru, because the cold that hit me when I got off the tube cut through my soul.

Like some kind of shit nomad, I plan on not staying very long in one place this year. From Cornwall to Peru and now to London for the next month. This next step is something I am beginning to regret already; not only does England feel colder now than when I left, I am staying in a room with a dodgy radiator and walls that cannot retain heat whatsoever. This has been an immense shock to my system and I haven’t stopped shivering since I landed in London last Tuesday. I’m not sure what I miss more, the sun or properly-insulated bedrooms.

I have visited London for the odd weekend here and there but the next month is something altogether different. It feels like an experiment: how long can the Cornish boy survive in London before depression and bankruptcy hit? If the British Library wasn’t nearby, I would seriously be questioning my decision, but luckily it is still there.

Enough complaining, more updates. The online store and the pre-order link will go live this week. I should’ve done it earlier but fear masquerading as procrastination had got the better of me. It feels very surreal that this once distant fantasy is now approaching next month and I hope everything goes swimmingly in the next seven or so weeks.