The last of the post-Australia washing has been put away (I’m not that much of a domestic slattern, honest, it’s just that stuff tends to linger on the drying rack until I need to clear it to hang the next load up). So now there is no evidence that I have been on an amazing trip. I’ve shown the photos to my dad, and that’s my worry of the day. There’s so much more to travelling than the pictures we take – even if you’re me, who takes a lot of pictures. And yes, they do all have the bike in. How do I stop the memories fading into those 475 frozen moments? I have my map, and things I picked up on the way, and my journal. I have often wished that it was possible to download memories onto some sort of brain chip. It would be great for two reasons: it would be possible to definitively check who was right in those domestics that start “but of course I told you.” And I wouldn’t have to rely on a rickety configuration of neurones to recall the red earth and the blue sky and the line where the oceans meet.