So a kind of farewell, then - 22 September 1858 / 2010

To be honest, 19th century Wessex is dull.

You read the brochures and you think that between yokels marrying maidens with lips o' cherry red, and singing of folk songs at all hours, it must be really exciting.

But it's not.

It's all smallpox and tuberculosis, and hoping you don't suddenly die of wet feet. Jane Austen is always most insistent that wet feet can be fatal. And look what happened to her. So Hnaef and I have been nagging Eileen for a few months, and we've worked out a solution. It took a while and we've had a bit of a round trip to Ireland to discuss a few mathematical concepts with Mr Boole. But we got there.

So the good news is, we've worked out a way to get the Porsche Cayenne back up to critical speed. Some would say that getting the Three Idiots (Thomas Leaf, Christian Cantle and Joseph Poorgrass) simply to push us off Durdle Door is cheating. And I appreciate this is a high-risk way of attempting a dimension shift.

But we reckon it's probably worth it. I just hope we end up in....