Sure, I've had to prise myself out of bed on many an occassion to face the long drive to Scotland or Cumbria thinking 'why can't I take 'normal' holidays like everyone else?' during that vulnerable early morning time. I've had me tent blown into a river in Langdale, had cut lips from hail at Bryn Cader Faner, almost succumbed to hypothermia during a night near Abergwesyn, collapsed from exhaustion four miles from the car on the Nantlle Ridge... but if you live to tell the tale I think your life is immeasurably enriched in the process. It also teaches you humility, an appreciation of humanity, even - that you aren't the centre of the universe and in fact are a very small part of the scheme of things, but nevertheless a part.

So stone hunting may not be 'normal', relative to what the average punter under a Centerparcs dome would think, but I've never wanted to be 'average' at what I experience. There must be more than Gavin and Stacy at Barry Island, surely? I want to feel, actually experience being alive, which means a lot of discomfort, too.

I'm not for a moment saying that any Neolithic inhabitant wouldn't have torn your arm off for a chance to live like us and not be cold, not fear where the next meal was coming from etc. But I'd wager their lives may well have had more meaning, in the respect of having a true spiritual narrative. Little rich kids 'slumming it', with daddy ready to whisk them home when it all becomes too much doesn't do it for me. I believe to gain some insight into prehistory you have to try to venture into their world on their terms. You get out what you put in, so to speak.