Friday 8th December
I nearly wrote “The Journey Home”, but home is really France these days, though somehow I will always think of England as home too. Up early for the market, though as we were well into our fifth day of perpetual rain (no, this is France not England) it was a pretty dismal market today (Thursday), only about half the stalls and these few were huddled under the arches out of the rain and wind. A reasonable though not by any means really busy day in the Café and we finished as usual on a Thursday at 1. We had to pick someone else up for the trip to Bergerac and he was returning after a house-hunting sortie. In the queue at the check-in desk I bumped into one of our Eymet friends, Monica – small world. The usual parlaver at Security, but I seem to have a well-rehearsed routine and put all my loose change, credit cards and keys in a zip-up pocket of my fleece and then don’t lose anything in the half-dozen or so boxes they distribute all your possessions into.
I was allocated a middle seat although I am usually lucky enough to get a window or aisle and felt a bit cramped on the flight back; no leg or elbow room. I seem to go into some sort of dream state on the flight itself, drifting between boredom where the lines on my kindle don’t register and I keep re-reading them, and an exhausted and fitful few seconds of sleep. At last the short flight was over and the long walk to passport control. In front of me at least four people got rejected at the e-passport face recognition machines. Incredible that Facebook can recognize me in a crowd and yet these state of the art machines cannot seem to match a passport photo and the real thing, however for once I sailed through. I got my usual Costa coffee and muffin and down to the trains. Just as I as buying my ticket I was distracted by Monica waving at me and calling my name, she was on the same train as me. But I forgot to pick up my coffee and muffin….only on the train did I notice and it was just leaving, too late to retrieve them. Oh well, I could do with missing the calories I suppose.
Soon in London and to the Restaurant to pick up paperwork then back to Liverpool Street and the long and tedious trek to Walton; if I am lucky I’ll be in time for fish and chips, which is one of the few things I miss about England. At least the journey is over once more.