THE END OF ONE WEEK; THE START OF ANOTHER

I'm alone in a kitchen. There's a clock on the wall - a round face with an octagonal wooden frame. It's counting out the seconds with each deafening tick. I might go and take out the batteries.

I wasn't able to write last week. I did have a go. I sat in the field, watching the sun punch through the clouds and sparkle through the dew. For some reason, camping seems to bring out the early riser in me; either that or I was subconsciously determined to make the most of each waking moment of The Gathering. I was up and about by 5:30 every day.

Now that I'm here in this strange ticking kitchen, hundreds of miles away, it seems like a good moment to reflect on last week - and to look forward to this one. The Gathering is our church network's camp - an opportunity to get together with people we don't see very often from all over the UK, to meet God together in a muddy field, to encourage each other and generally wander about like tired zombies in wellington boots and hoodies.

I'm being a little flippant; it was actually quite awesome but in ways that would render description far less sufficient than actual experience. In other words, you had to be there. I suspect I will remember it in short but beautiful flashbacks: the voles darting beneath my tent, me hanging out with my very best friends, being waved at by tiny princesses in paper crowns; the prophetic arrows that slammed with remarkable perception and accuracy into the cosy marquee, the view from the stage as my red raw fingers bounced across the keyboard, and the early morning sunrise chats with my friend, Winners.

One morning, Mike emerged bleary-eyed from his tent, clutching a towel and a plastic bag. He was in pyjamas and a long sleeved t-shirt.

"You two up early again?" he said, squinting in the morning sun. Winners chuckled. Mike trudged off to the showers.

I really love this chilling-out time with people. Winners and I talked about all sorts - camping in Afghanistan (he is a soldier), quantum physics, driving in Germany, fishing in Zimbabwe, what it means to 'man up' and whether real men drink tea or coffee. All before the sun had burned through the mist.

There were other chill-out times too: stargazing with Emmie (back from Toronto), Mike (of pyjama fame) and Kathie (his wife), 8am singing lessons, late-night hot chocolate and in-depth discussion, guitar-playing and awkward baby talk, not to mention the classic daily game of Pick a Shirt Any Shirt. As I said, you really did have to be there.

-

How then, have I found myself alone in a kitchen with a noisy clock?

I drove here. Back from camping, I unpacked the car, repacked the car (was reunited with my phone which had been lost in the dying embers of The Gathering - that was a story and a half, regretfully not one I have time to expand) and then drove the two-hundred-or-so miles to Buxton where I will be this week, adventuring and exploring the hills of the Peak District.

I admit, I don't really want to be alone here, stuck between two very different weeks. It's OK though - I'm a single person and I gain energy this way. I absorb it from the silence, I process it through free thinking and I consume it, recycle it and amplify it until I'm ready to go back into the real world... in about six days' time. That's how I roll, it seems.