I feel obligated to tell you that there is no place like Cornwall. That’s true for me at any time of day but the early mornings here, especially in the autumn, when the light seems to glow in a way that I can’t recall experiencing anywhere else. It’s magical.

The mist sits in the valleys and the sun makes the greens somehow greener, the golden leaves more glorious and the sky more perfect.

Shame I’m photographing it and experiencing it from a seat on an express train to London.

The beginning of my trip is, as always, painful. My “puppies” hang back in the lounge and won’t come to see me off at the door. I have to seek them out and give them a fuss, telling them to “be good for your Dad” and promising to return soon. The tip of Archie’s tail gives a tiny flicker but his face is as hang-dog as a hang-dog.

DM winds down his window and we say bye-bye…..then we say it again, then I walk the emotional plank down to the platform while we exchange blown kisses and mouthed but unspoken endearments.

Then I usually cry for a bit.

Time comes for my evening call – it usually consists of little in the way of constructive discussion, lots in the way of “I wish I was there” and “I wish you were here” and long silences when I can’t think of anything to say other than wailing “I want to be there”.

Pathetic huh? Yep – as pathetic as a pathetic thing.

Last year, I was photographing a poor old girl.