The Robinsons are restless. Beneath the calm, sleepy surface, dreams are brewing. They always draw us away from where we are, our friends, our home and launch us into the exciting. The unknown. In days gone past we would relish these dreams, pinning our hopes upon them like children. We would ride each wave and cry out as they tumbled down. We pined for city streets and new scenes, skyscrapers and aeroplanes. We yearn for greatness, to build our walls high, to extend the vineyard. But a part of me wants to cower under the covers, return to slumber and wait for all of this to blow over. Waking up, I want to find that I am still a mummy writer, James is still an IT project manager and we are unfazed about the mortgage over our heads.