The Great Escape...or a Tactical Retreat

There is a hotel that sits almost on the edge of the world, a black mountain ridge at its back and the grey waves breaking below the terrace in front, and I am heading there early tomorrow. On my own. Without even one of the dogs.

When I was young I ran away twice. This time I am going with official sanction.

I need time and space.

And I have no plans at all. I have a list of books to go (including an MFU fanzine newly bought from ebay) and my ipod full of goodies, including The Form of Things Unknown, and I intend to spend a lot of time in the hotel bathroom playing with all the little bottles. Apart from that, nothing. And right now that is good.

One odd thought. This not-running-away says a lot about the depth of the recession.
This hotel is beyond my price range and I had picked me out one I could afford; but just on the offchance I emailed it, and - amazingly? shockingly? - they immediately offered me a rate that was £30 a night LESS than their website. And they could take me any time I wanted.
And I phoned the garage on Thursday, vaguely wanting my car looked at before setting out on a seven-hour journey through lonely glens and they could take it on Friday morning. (Not quite so happy about the aftermath there, but I had to admit I DID know what had happened to the car's suspension - something to do with a dig that is five miles off the road - and accept that it needed fixed.)

But that hotel was always booked up months in advance. Now it was advertising last year's prices, undercutting them straight away on request, and able to take me at a couple of days' notice.
And for a service, the garage always had to be booked a week or two in advance.

But for the next few days I am not fretting about the recession. I am on retreat.