Wednesday 20th August
No matter how many times you tell yourself it is only a few days until you return (in this case only five) there is no hiding the loneliness of the flight home. Last time at least I had my parents for company so the time went quite quickly but yesterday I came back on my own. And no matter how great a time you have just had there is always that feeling that maybe you wasted just a bit of the holiday, you could have (should have) done a bit more. Ah why are we humans never really happy, most people would give an arm and a leg to have a house in France and here I am bewailing the fact that I can’t be there more often, even though I have squeezed almost three weeks in August and will only lose two working days.
I got to the airport two hours early, well you never know. Surviving the torture of security I sat bored re-reading Mojo articles about Crosby Stills Nash and Young and reading reviews of records I will never buy. I have now reached the age when I buy very little new stuff, simply filling in the holes in my catalogue, replacing with CDs albums I once had on vinyl and then taped onto cassette and sold the records to buy even more records….hahaha. Of all the pointless human enterprises this re-buying of the records of one’s youth must rate as one of the most pointless. Or then again maybe not. Some second-hand shop will one day appreciate my collection. I listened to sad songs all the flight, Janis Ian – Between the Lines, Dory Previn – Mythical Kings, and Dylan – Blood on the Tracks, skipping over anything that even hinted at being upbeat. Even I couldn’t quite face Leonard on this trip.
On the train home I spewed out all this nonsense. Back to work tomorrow for three days at least then off for a week. And the flight out will be a different thing altogether I hope.