Maybe it’s fitting that I arrived back home in a heat wave today. Everything ran at a very reduced speed and I couldn’t have moved any quicker anyway after the week I’ve just had. A week in my parents’ summerhouse in Denmark: don’t set the alarm, get up whenever, watch the sun crawl over the veranda, eat breakfast with Fibersund and blueberries, read an entire newspaper, get on the bike, go, go somewhere, anywhere, maybe the beach, read, look out at the sea, fall asleep, read some more, be happy about great Danish fashion magazines like “Cover”, be happier not to need anything but a bikini, a pair of cut-offs and an old shirt for a week, be happy about great authors like Paul Murray (go buy “Skippy Dies” now, not just for the beach), get back on the bike at some point, stop sometimes, take a few pictures, eat an ice cream, go back to the garden, watch the sun crawl over the veranda. Repeat the next day. I guess everything will return to its normal pace tomorrow. Until then I’m going to pretend alarm clocks don’t exist.