In Gatwick, we got Radiohead and Electronic over the plane's PA system. In RDU, we got James Blunt. This means something profound, I'm sure.
It's bad timing and me
Flying back home is always hard. Still, it'll be good to see everybody back in Britain, and you can't find a decent digestive biscuit to save your life in the Triangle (and the speciality shops charge almost $2 for a Flake! It's confection-related robbery, I tell you).
And I've just realised I don't have any money to buy my bus pass on Tuesday. So it means I have to go outside during the weekend; no hermitage for me, at least not yet, anyway.
Oooh, and Bonnie went to see Take That last night; I wonder how she got on. I suppose I can ask her in about ten hours or so. Before I subject her to all the CDs in my One Kiss Can Lead To Another boxset. Mind you, I do want to live to see Doctor Who on Saturday. So perhaps I should listen through headphones.
Four hours to go. But I have just watched my first airline film in about three years. Okay, so it was Sixteen Candles, but hey, they had Dr. No on the way out. I think Molly Ringwald is infinitely preferable to James Bond, you see.
I should sleep. Sleep would be good. Jangling guitars and MIDI interfaces in my ears, but I can't keep my eyes open. So, off with me, and back when I'm back.
some time later…
Well, that didn't work. But there's now only an hour left. It seems to have gone quickly. Playing Tetris, reading the first volume of Y: The Last Man and whatnot has seen me right up to the Irish Coast…
And now…back. Clothes…everywhere.