For the past three weeks N and I have been living in a little caravan, at the edge of a frosty wilderness in the "far out" far-north of NZ. This strange place we've been staying in gets stranger at night: when the morpork's start their hooting, and the wind goes icy cold, and everything must be done by candle light. To make things stranger, amongst the rumpty forest in which we live, there are a number of other caravans - each in a differing state of disrepair, dotted amongst the long grass and the straggly trees. In the daylight, they're unoccupied, but at night time my imagination fills them with all sorts of creepy fly-by-night characters, or the ghosts of those who've inhabited them before. And its then that I thank my lucky stars I've sensible N beside me, with his sensible torch, to aid in any moments of irrational terror!
