Writing from: Home sweet home
I’m leaving my lovely London and, as is always the way with me, I have no time at all to do everything I want before I do so.
This is not my first trip, not by a long soft, white, porous sedimentary rock, a form of limestone composed of the mineral calcite, and I am sure it won’t be my last. This is, however, my first blog about it. So lucky me, and lucky you for stumbling upon it.
Yes, I will be travelling. Yes, I am taking six pairs of knitting needles and more sock yarn than is healthy, and ok, I am a bit confused as to why too.
My flight leaves this very evening. Everyone here seems to want to leave with me.
Yesterday morning though I wandered back through London from a night of wine and celebration with all the friends I am going to be leaving behind. London appears to have been invaded by a scary amount of garden spiders this year, and they’d been busy little eight-legged oh-my-god-is-that-one-of-those-jumping-ones folks. Every bush and tree seemed to be covered in their handy (or leggy?) work, and because it was a misty morning in our fine city every web was all spangly. And I sort of hate to leave…
Still I would rather have proper memories of India than the curry house I walked past on the way home from Putney.
So here I go.
I hate to be leaving, but I won’t let it come between us.