I return home, plug in my phone so that I can tell my husband that I’m back, I put the kettle on and say hello to the cats.

I eat two Chunky Kit Kats in the time it takes Andy to get home. He’s pleased to see me, as I am him.

He laughs when he asks to see my photos and I tell him I haven’t taken many. I hadn’t, it's most unlike me.

Andy goes back to work but only after we discuss the acts, the weather, the food, the cats, my tomato plants, and the weather again.

I make another cuppa, eat the pasta pot snack I’d taken all the way to Henham Park with me, and brought all the way home again.

My luggage stays in the hall, I don't want to unpack.

I wander around not wanting to turn on my computer just yet. I feel like I’ve been unplugged for a while and I like it.

I always return from camping feeling very calm, I love the simplicity of living with just the things I absolutely need. I look at our accumulated stuff and promise myself that I won’t add more to it, I’ll sleep under canvas more often instead.

After a few days of being surrounded by people and noise, it feels oddly quiet, there is a low ringing in my ears. There is nothing to do, nothing to see, listen too, or be entertained by. There is a distinct lack of smoke filled bubbles.

I eat my supper in the garden, listening to music. I grab my book and sip another cuppa while I acclimatise to being home again.

Normal life will can wait until tomorrow.