After an indeterminate period of time hovering above that thin red line between nothingness & eternity, I was evidently re-activated and we left Tisbury. It was a very chilly February evening, minus 5, as we headed back East, to civilisation. The roads were deserted, and then, out of the dark night, loomed the Great Gatehouse at Fonthill Bishop, spanning the road ahead in all its imposing, and sinister, majesty. For a moment, I thought we were passing through some mysterious worm hole, plunging into the dark nether world of Harry Potter or Frodo Baggins. Thankfully, the void beyond brought not our doom, but the B3089 to Salisbury.