The day of leaving, and the pathetic fallacy of rain as in a Thomas Hardy novel. We drove off to Sunken Meadow and went for a walk anyway, over the rain shiny boardwalk and onto the sand. The wet shells and stones looking extra colourful; the sea grey and misty. Despite the damp we both enjoyed this.

Then off to Elijah Churchill's, a publike local restaurant with a revolutionary theme. I ate some sort of burger with a name like a redcoat or patriot, or turncoat and menaced MJ with onions for comic effect. Home again briefly for coffee before MJ drove me off to JFK. We are quite used to saying goodbye all the time, but it doesn't make it much better.

Was there early so ended up buying The Tipping Point by Malcom Gladwell and reading it in one of the bars till it was time to get on the plane.

Rather panicky on this journey, cramped into the seat next to another large man. The woman at the window pulled her window flap down immediately and so was unable to see any kind of horizon during the persistent turbulence. Did not get a single minute of sleep.

The plane took ages to take off and there was a man next to me shouting on his mobile phone in Yiddish. People kept glaring at him but he was oblivious. I took an even dimmer view of him turning on his phone shortly before we landed at about 7:15 when he momentarily turned on his phone as we were flying over London, not yet landed. And finally when we were standing still in the aisle waiting to disembark he kept pushing me in the back. It is a long time since I have felt so close to putting someone on the deck.

And welcome to Heathrow.

Below the rainsoaked North shore.