I’M HERE. I’VE ARRIVED. I’M ON MY WAY TO MANCHESTER.
The flight was fine, although it was cold. I woke in the night and grumbled to one of the staff and he said it was because we were so high that the air con units outside the ‘plane had got ice on. I didn’t want to hear that; so had my extremities. Anyway I rearranged my complimentary blanket (I got warmed up a bit from the electrical sparks caused by peeling nylon blanket off my pure wool jumper) and went back to sleep.
Since I landed I’ve been making lots of tut tutting noises about how expensive everything is (£1.20 for a bottle of water!) I pottered about Paddington (that Heathrow Express is fab, but so it should be for £15 for a single 15 minute journey). Right, okay, that’s the last time I do that; no more mentioning the cost of living here.
It felt very weird leaving the apartment last night. I felt like I was doing something naughty and I’m quite law abiding normally. It was my first time on an international flight from the new airport in Bangkok, and I had nobody to say ‘no, no there’s no time for shopping…’ so I had a bit of look about but it was all a bit disappointingly Dior, Cartier, Chanel, Mont Blanc etc and even at duty free prices they are impossibly expensive. (And I know Terminal 4 at Heathrow has a Mulberry shop, and I’m saving myself for that on the way home, but shhh, don’t tell Husband.)
So I’m on a train now going up to Manchester, looking out the window at the red brick railway bridges, wild flowers and elderflower trees and thinking about how much I miss rural views. I do love the English countryside, but I think I might be in danger of rhapsodizing … nostalgia is a wonderful thing.