The Loneliness of the Flight Home

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.