I’m back at the shack, staggered in with a supply of the cooking from the other day, with a supply of wine (naturally), with the computer and some files, with the dogs and with my overnight bag. The overnight bag is never for overnight, I am rarely here overnight . . . days at a time usually and thus the bag contains underwear and a sponge bag. Shack clothes are left here . . . you know, the faded denim shorts and jeans, the old polo-shirts, the beaten-up boat shoes, the white wind-cheater that is so loved that it’s worn at the neck and wrists. So why then does the overnight bag weigh a tonne?