I used to think my utopia was in a city, but I somehow outgrew a life that had everything. Now I dream of something else: solitude; no one else is in my utopia apart from me.

As I enter a dream state at night, my utopia is surrounded by a wall, not a towering wall but something akin to Hadrian's that has a single door that is unlocked and open. As I walk into utopia, there is strangely nothing there aside from colours. The colours are neither bland nor vivid, only to be described as homely: heathers, gorse and a green of the glens dominate.

I walk around my utopia of nothingness, and it's serene and peaceful, but nothing happens here and I'm happy with that.

In the city, there is a never-ending story of change, constantly recalibrating or morphing to the world happening around it. My life often feels like an airport travelator to nowhere so when people tell me I'll miss the city I'm not convinced.

I want to go home someday, but I'm not really sure where home is; my childhood had lots of positives, but whilst we had a loving house I could never call anywhere truly home. My nowhere accent meant no one could ever place me.

Caledonia feels like home, and my dream-like vision of Hadrian's wall had drawn me there; cottages in the highlands excite me more than grand houses in the countryside. Caledonia is also my ancestral home, and maybe utopia is simply going back to where you belong?

One day I'll walk through that door and call it home.