It was winter in the Czech Republic. A freezing wind was blowing through the trees that stood like hairs on the backs of the Beskydy mountains. My eyes were like lead as I scanned the dark roads for signs to the village that would provide a short-term break from the van. Things had been difficult over the last weeks - an electrical problem had made it hard to maintain power overnight, making it impossible to run the dehumidifier, leading to problems with damp and in general, the joy of winter van-life had begun to dwindle.

A few nights in a peaceful village were sure to revitalize, and I'd have a bit of time to figure out the electrical problem without trying to live off the power at the same time. The house was hard to find in the dark and the narrow hills were steep and bumpy. The navigation had misrepresented the drive by well over an hour and my shift at the laptop was minutes away by the time I pulled up to the place. Thanks to a fairly typical miscommunication, the other tenant had gone to bed, were not expecting visitors, and were not too happy to have their three toddlers woken late at night to open the door. Byron didn't make the process easier by getting fresh with the already-peeved gentleman - a joviality he'd been perfecting despite my discouraging words.

I was thankful to take over from another van-dwelling remoter, as the first two hours of the shift were easily spent discussing storage, electrical systems, showers and other van-based designs and ideas. My remote job had been evolving from ideal towards impractical, and out to the far reaches of decidely unexciting and time-consuming, of late - the night shift being a good example. It was high time for a change.

Come siz-in-the-morning, when I finally closed my laptop and hit the sack, I'd been as good as useless for at least an hour. The constant shift changes combined with long drives, cold weather and van issues were wearing me down like an old grindstone cutting into my senses of freedom, purpose and enjoyment, replacing them with bad sleep and bad moods. When I came around, some time after 12, I finally saw my surroundings; a stunning mountain range that begged to be photographed, peppered with little log huts and heavily salted with lofty pine trees.

The air was full of log smoke and there were sheep and cockerels and wild birds of prey. As picturesque as any place could be. Byron loved his first walk; he was running and deep-hopping all over the place, occasionally looking back as if to convey his excitement at the nature. He almost lost it when we came to a pile of fire wood. Which log to chew first? There were so many choices to make! It was already past the golden hour when we reached the stream, with its boulders puncturing the velvet surface of the flowing water like tears in a night gown.

Back in the house, I made a start on the log fire, which I had hoped would mark the beginning of a cosy and stress-free evening, but less than an hour later, something went horribly wrong in the basement, sending thick smoke up the stairs and making evacuation necessary. The following hour was spent standing in the cold garden watching 10-or-so firefighters rushing in and out with various pieces of equipment, trying to put out the fire and figure out what caused it. When all was done and the trucks had gone, the house was safe to return to, but there was no power and no water, which meant a cold and dark night, not unlike those I had hoped to get away from for a few days. As an additional bonus, I had no means to charge my computer, and my next shift was uncharacteristically (and somewhat typically) busy - an emergency which required me, the solitary night shifter, to make regular phone calls and type up hourly reports. Some days there is no rest.

The night was long and the will to change grew stronger, still. As I sat in the cold room by torch light, smelling the smoky leftovers in the very brick, the fire petered out in the burner, and the sound of the frigid winter wind battled with the windows behind inappropriately thin curtains and Byron slept sweetly, head tucked between my back and the couch cushion, letting out the odd sigh, growl or fart as the moments came.

It would need to be visited again in tomorrow's daylight to be fully appreciated.

Sadly, there are no dramatic photographs of the fire, as we were a little too occupied by the fire to think about the blog.