Locked in, loaded, living the dream. The words were flying onto the screen. With a torrent like the Adur bursting its banks, flooding the surrounding trails, fields and grassland, in blind fear and hidden joy of reaching its final destination of the ocean.

Long hours of day, followed by longer hours of night, I was speed writing like a demon, in a crazed altered state to deliver the manuscript on the new timeline. A man possessed, puking guts and digging for glory, in the sprint to the finish line towards the waving black and white chequered flag.

However, a hard-knock lesson dished out early during the graft of writing the memoir of a lifetime, was it was always about the journey. Being in the natural state of the ever present now, beyond the mirage of the final destination.

With the clock flashing gone midnight, in the darkness and shadows where sometimes the missing answers to the right questions fall into place, somewhere beyond the walls there was a sense of stars aligning in the hours before the Big Fight.