Valley Forge covered bridge

Up late. Skype with my mother and my children. Claire is in the garden somewhere.

I pack my bag and head for Washington's revolutionary headquarters at Valley Forge. It's a tidy national monument, well maintained buildings in an expanse of lawn, cross crossed by paths. It would have been properly muddy back in the day.

It's cold and as I walk the Mt Misery trail, an uphill, rocky path through leafless trees - all ochre and grey - I wish I'd brought my jumper. By the time I reach the top, I've shed my snood and hat. Then it's down to the covered bridge over Valley creek and a path back to the car.

Wawa for fuel, car back to Dollar, Philly airport for food and wine. On the way to the toilet I spot a "pet rest station" - a square of artificial lawn with a fake fire hydrant in the middle of it - and I thought it was the Brits who put man's-best-friend first.

A short flight to Charlotte, where it is warm and humid. I drive to my B&B in a Hispanic neighbourhood. English definitely a second language. Spotless room, fridge, bath, shower, ceiling fan. Ubiquitous huge Tv that won't get turned on by me. Fast wifi, that will.

As I settle down the heavens open for a short, intense downpour, before the long darkness and cicadas take over for the night.