Jeff Astle Sings Back Home

My first and likely only trans-Atlantic trip in business class was basically one of those 60s or 70s dramas where the working class boy goes up to Oxford and is confronted with High Table for the first time. What is all this cutlery? Why are we wearing gowns? How come everybody else knows where everything is in this little pod, yet I’m making loud noises as I pull things and think I’ve broken them in a Bob Mortimer-on-Taskmaster way? And then the flight attendant accidentally spilt half a can of Diet Coke on me…which set up an uncomfortable relationship for the rest of the flight: me not wanting to cause any trouble and being overly thankful and reluctant to ask for anything, and her trying to make up for coating me in fizzy liquid. Reader, my blanket was soaked, but I let it dry rather than ask for a new one.

Honestly, being in the back of the plane going home is going to be less stressful. Will I sleep? No, but it turns out attempting to sleep on your front is business class isn’t actually all that comfortable either. So roll on the tighter fit for the return journey home!

But anyway, I am back home in Bicester again. Everything is frosty, cold, and small.

Two more days of work left for the year, two days upcoming in London, and then…FESTIVENESS!