The train took me through The Fens, running alongside little narrowboats on canals near Ely, vibrant and warm in their traditional rich colours. We pass slight undulations in the land and I can see canada geese floating together /click/ deer peering up from a field /click/ pheasant cock looking out for his mate. As I gaze out, hurtling towards the Bronze Age, I wonder, would this have all been marsh?

I woke up while the sky was still mostly dark, to set off on the first bus to Nyon train station. I had one weekend a month that I stayed in Switzerland where I was working, instead of taking the five am Saturday flight back home to Alicante for the weekend. The route back to Geneva on Sunday was then via Lisbon, Amsterdam or Madrid since there were no direct flights that day. It felt like a reprieve to have a Saturday that I wasn’t getting up at three in the morning, getting up at seven felt indulgently luxurious.