Leaving home, coming home

Our third wedding anniversary today. Up at seven and after a cup of tea, we made off for a last mooch to Icart, with the rising sun sliding redly up into the low clouds. In this morning light the rust colour of the bracken zinged. Reluctantly back to the hotel to strap on the nosebag for a hurried Guernsey breakfast where there was an Anniversary card on our table, before clambering into a taxi and off to the airport. Nice woman driver, who I was able to talk nostalgically to.

The flight smooth and I was calm. The usual sadness at seeing the island slip away underwing. Bright and cheery at Gatwick, and the drive home pleasant enough. Luckily being in Brighton, I feel okay about coming home again. I just feel lucky I can zoom back to Guernsey a couple of times a year, because the place has a hold on me that I can't undo, even if I wanted it to.

Pat and Maureen at home, having taken care of the cats. Beth's first show this afternoon for Annie at Eastbourne. Calliope biting me then sitting on me whenever she could.

Caught up with Mum on FaceTime, for a while. Went shopping for vegetables on foot, dropping Pat and Maureen at Blakers Park, and later we all got peeling and had a roast chicken and loads of veggies for supper. Beth returned from her first show, cheerful and in need of a can of lager.

I'd been feeling a bit tired today,  and a sudden streaming cold in the evening explained it. The final dose of  The Great British Bake Off, and later to bed accompanied by wife and two paracetamols.

Last glimpses.




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