At the airport, checked in to fly home. That sense of nostalgia, time passing, barriers which can not be re-passed. The strange plastic air and sound in the terminal, the bright air outside - real sunlight, stone buildings, rocks, plants.
I think of the hundreds of super fit cyclists powering up and down the hills, the acned houses, the cafes...
At home, the commitments, appointments, terrors, normality.
We buy food in a vain attempt to eat something nicer than the menu offered on board, but we are buying from Upper Crust, an old Britsh Rail brand irrevocably associated in my mind w Victora Station. Those baguettes!
Time to go.