This place - this part of the Peak District - has its own particular winter smell. It followed me on a walk today: a very long one. It's different from any smell I've smelt while walking anywhere else. There is almost nothing of my former home in it. It's a little woodsmoky, but also tinged with manure and mournful old stone and a hint of Victorian industry. I feel different while within this smell. People are expected to be the same person all their life, but different places make us different people. I'm not talking about the impact of an environment over time; I'm talking about something instantaneous. My hair is different here, my outlook, even my face, maybe. I am more lethargic, which is unlike me. I don't sleep fully, though, because of the nightmares at 3.44 and my active mind.