I haven't written anything for days because we've been working from dawn to dusk getting the ground prepared, and then getting the crops in. By the time i get to bed, I'm so tired I fall asleep straight away, so I can't get anything written here.

Now I've been told - if I can understand what they have said and gestured to me - that most of the men (including me) are leaving first thing tomorrow morning on a long expedition. If I've got it right, we're going to a big annual meeting-cum-roundup of livestock, somewhere down south.

If I get the chance, I'll describe the journey.

Something odd happened last night. I woke in the very early hours, well before dawn, conscious that I had been sent again. I seemed to be somewhere dry, and reasonably comfortable, so I settled down to wait for daylight, to see where I'd ended up this time.

In fact, I must have fallen asleep again, because I woke to find Fou-el's son shaking me and indicating that it was time to get up and start work.

I seem to be in exactly the same world. Yet I am sure that I felt a sending. It was certainly what I've felt on the other occasions this has happened while I was awake: the same sense of vertigo, as though I were standing on the edge of a mile-high cliff, followed by bright flashing lights at the back of my eyes. I'm sure it wasn't a dream.

Can I have been sent to the same place and time? Am I stuck here for ever?

Only time, I suppose, will tell.

Work has been extremely hard the last few days, and I’ve been too tired in the evenings to write anything. I can only really type when it gets dark, as I don’t want to draw attention to my wristpad, and have to try to explain it (and probably face having to fight for it, and the head of this household is also headman of the village, and he and his wife have the bulk of the prestigious items – particularly jewellery). Fortunately, although it’s a lot warmer here than the last world I was in, it’s still cold enough for me to keep my sleeves rolled down in the day, and I don’t think anyone has noticed it.

The headman is a big, bulky bloke – and very fit, of course, with all the hard work around here. I certainly wouldn’t want to have to fight him. He’s about my height, but a couple of stones heavier, and about ten years older too – I’d guess he’s in his mid-thirties, although his face (like everyone else’s) is so weather-beaten I could be out by twenty years.

I’m still struggling with the language – I’m not even sure what his name is. The others call him something like Fou-el, but I suspect that’s a title rather than a name. Still, it’s what I call him too – he doesn’t seem to object. In my mind, though, I think of him as Phil.

I’m afraid it’s really hard to see what I’m doing – this small oil lamp (a wick, floating in a small dish of oil, actually) doesn’t really give enough light to see the small symbols on this touch-pad, so I think I’m going to have to stop now. Will try to write again tomorrow about the life of this community.

It’s difficult to find the right words to describe this place. ‘Primitive’ sprang to mind, but I wouldn’t want to give the impression that the people here are intellectually backward in any way. They’re really bright – at least, as far as I can tell, because communication isn’t the easiest thing.

I’m not sure what language they’re speaking. Odd words are English, and at times whole sentences seem to making sense. In general though, it’s a language I’ve never heard, and which doesn’t sound much like any European ones I know. There’s a hint of Scandinavian, and a bit of German – but sometimes whole days go by with not a single word spoken that I can recognise.

Still, with a bit of mime, and a few common words, I get by.

The buildings, certainly, might be described as primitive. Raking up what I can remember from the archaeology course I did years ago, I’d say they are similar to those of the Middle Ages. They are proper buildings, not round huts or the like. The have timber frames, thatched roofs, and walls infilled with wicker-work, covered with mud (and other substances, I suspect – there are certainly hairs sticking out of the piece of wall I’m leaning against). I think that’s what’s called wattle-and-daub.

But they do have glass windows. Not very clear glass, to be sure, but glass nevertheless. They are warm, and dry, and serve their purpose very well. Inside the building where I’ve been housed, wall hangings are clean and fresh, the rushes on the floor are changed daily. It’s actually very comfortable.

So ‘primitive’ may not be the word, but it’s certainly not the world I came from, either.

The sun’s gone down, so work has now stopped, and although the primitive oil lamp I’m allowed to use doesn’t give fantastic light, I can see enough to type.

I’ve settled here among a community of farmers. Actually that’s not the right word – if in your mind it sets up an image of tractors and combines. This is a primitive agricultural community – almost subsistence living. Still, it’s labour-intensive, which means I was able to offer my services in exchange for bread and a bed.

The village has pigs, chickens and a few cattle – but the livestock is like nothing I’m used to. The cows have huge, curved horns, and are about 50% taller than any cow I’ve ever seen – they really are quite threatening. The pigs, on the other hand, are much smaller, scruffier and hairier than pigs from ‘my’ world.

I’ll write more about the community here, but the light really is getting bad, and it’s too much of a strain to write further today.

Well, I survived – but only just. I spent most of my time in Norwich scavenging for food and firewood – and trying to keep warm.

My wristpad packed up completely, and wouldn’t work even after I was sent here, where temperatures are about back to normal (I think – although it does seem very warm to me, but that may just be a reaction after spending months in freezing temperatures). Then, yesterday, I spotted that there seemed to be some signs of life. I think the battery must have been completely discharged, and so it took more than just some warmth and sunlight to bring it back to life.

Anyway, I’m here, alive, and reporting back.

I’m being called to work by the farmer I’m staying with, so will have to close – will try to write again tomorrow.