On farmland near the small fishing town of Kampot, dusty paths ran poker straight around the edges of fields like grouting in between bright green bathroom tiles.
During a busy week of lockdown working, my permitted daily walk has kept me sane. Often just around the block or on calmer days, the one mile stretch up to Hilly Fields in Brockley.
As the footpath disappeared completely into boulders the size of compact Italian Fiats, only my gaze could continue to trace the tiny slither of land towards the peninsula’s vertiginous point.