There is only one possession yet I want to 're-place' in aid to this project; my framed four leaf clover. Although I did'nt get a chance to make the trek up Mt Usbourne- the only mountain in the Falklands- due to time, weather and driver availability constrictions, I intend to complete the journey one day when I return to the Falklands... to finish the task which I had set myself, and do justice to the project which has done so much good for both my artistic, a mental view of 'myself'. I truly now realise the importance of the journey, for getting us where we need to be within oursleves...

Cape Pembroke Lighthouse; school tin and Layla's apology note, 1:30pm 9th Jan, Marc drove me and Layla there

The lonely lonely landscape; Cape Pembroke Lighthouse... a symbol of the days of watching, guiding, assisting; saving.

It looks out towards what I call, "the end of the world". I brought my school things that I had kept hold of, here to the remotest, most separate place of watchfulness... that need was ignored or abandoned at the time, yet was still needed to bring a sense of reality back to an unreal situation, fraught with mixed messages, twisted messages and melodramatic traumas.

The past may not be changed, or hidden easily, but it can eventually become accepted; reconciled with.

Fitzroy; Spanish coin, 10:30am 9th Jan

As a child I stayed in a little house in Fitzroy settlement. I played on the wool bales in the shearing shed, terrified my Mum by crossing the bridge unsupervised on a regular basis, tempting fate by standing as colse to the edge as I could... but when I came back to 're-place' my childhood memories, the bridge didn't seem so huge, or so fascinating with a fence pulled across and its 'out of bounds' sign.

It was strange to go back to a place of so many memories to see it looking the same... but older... tired.

Helen's Grave; letter to Helen, and a few presents from her, 9:30am 3rd Jan, Mum drove me

When I was 15 one of my closest friends, Helen McKay, died in a car accident.

She was buried out at the family graveyard near Fitzroy Ridge, in a unique and decorated grave. I still think about her a lot of the time, and even though I read at her funeral, I've never quite got the 'closure' I've needed to fully cone to terms with her loss.

I wrote her a private letter and left a few things that she gave me there, for her to look after. Hopefully she liked my letter, and I felt better just for talking to her again.

Mt Tumbledown; Poems, 12pm 3rd Jan

At school we had to run up Mt Tumbledown annually as part of the House Cup sporting activites, but I never really bothered to take the time to go there and explore the nooks and crannies of the sheer rocky hill tops leading to the summit.

From the top you can see Stanley in its enitrety, and on a sunny day the views are spectacular. The walk there and the fun (and discoveries) of climbing amongst the rocks made the completion of the self- set 'task' even more rewarding.

Tumbledown was also the site of an epic battle between the British and Argentines during the 1982 conflict, and even now traces of it still echo across the hillside.

The Peatbog; 'tin of shame', 5 pm 3rd Jan, Dad helped me find the exact location, and to bury it

Dad is probably one of the only people left in the Falkland Islands mad enough to still cut their own peat, let alone still uses it as fuel!

The peatbog is remote, isolated, yet strangely beautiful in its dislocation. It is a scene of passing time and change, of hard work and an endeavour to provide necessities; even when all others abandon hope of it.

Things are usually cut out of it and taken away, so I thought I'd be perverse and bury things in it instead... to hide my embarrassments in the ground where no one can see them.

I had a hoarded object that I had been given by someone, that I wanted to take to the edge of the shore where the horizon of the sea looks as though it falls off the edge... and throw it in, cast it off the "end of the world". However it wasn't meant to be. I lost the object when I dropped my bag upside down accidentally in a bar on New Years Eve... so now it lies lost somewhere in the world of drunken mistakes... soaking in the irony that I can never cast this memory away... or maybe in the knowledge that I am finding hard to grasp... that I am not supposed to let go just yet.