Sitting and Watching and Waiting

So here I am, at the airport.  I'm in the bar now with a chilled Chardonnay to round off my hols.  I have cleared security and did of course have my bag swabbed for explosives and, or drugs and now here I am.  I'm feeling quite pretty by the way.  I have on my bargain cotton top with frilly capped sleeves and my new scarf that JR brought me back from Italy, it's gorgeous, sliver grey linen with silver grey lace around the edges so I'm a cloud of femininity.

There has just been an announcement to advise that one of the departures is delayed for 25 minutes but I didn't catch the destination as James is singing to me on my iPod.  I turn to ask the woman sitting directly behind me, I speak, then realise this was possibly a bad idea.  The conversation goes on for some time, she looks a little worse for wear and it's probably due to tiredness and possibly something to do with the G&T on her table.

The weekend can probably be best summed up like this; sleep, friends, conversation, laughter, sea air and a little wine.  I feel like my batteries are recharged, I feel a little tired, but rested, you'll know what I mean.

Suddenly feel a little down after being cocooned in friendship and company for the weekend, I'm heading home to the norm.

The man sitting opposite me has a prosthetic hand and I can't help but wonder about his story.  It's a very good prosthetic and I would never have noticed had it not been for the extreme paleness of the hand.

My flight is called and we board a little late.  I say "hello" to my co-traveller and he just looks at me. My bearded traveller has already made himself at home, spreading himself out and hogging the communal arm rest while he reads the broadsheets.  Rather than taking the polite route of boycotting the communal arm rest, said man shows no intention of confining himself to his side of the arm rest and so I'm perched, as if trying not to be contaminated on the farthest left of my seat.  Turns out that his wife is sitting across the aisle, she's not soft.

Before we depart, I ask the cabin crew if I can relocate to the seat behind me which is free so that bearded man could fully open out his broadsheets without me encumbering him.  Arse.

I've happily relocated and I'm sitting here with my decaff coffee, marvelling at the patchwork of fields below me, never fails to impress me.

We land 15 minutes late and B collects me 17 minutes late so pretty good timing all around.  I arrive home to be greeted by my mail from you, thank you, one from my cousin L and a barrage of text messages.  Maybe it's not bad being home after all.