My head is pounding from the events of the past week and my hernia-inducing luggage is roaming airports unknown in search of its overly-biblio-obsessed owner.
I have a hunch it is at Paris CDG, but I loathe that airport so much that I could easily attribute syphilis, the hole in the ozone layer and the untimely end of Dark Angel to the place.
Through this gloom I am relishing the smaller things that previously passed without comment or garnered a mere glance.
A hot tea with a tough, crunchy and burning ginger biscuit. Or three.
A cool breeze under a grey sky that scents of rains to come.
Said rains, so cool and refreshing that cleanse the sticky heat of a summer’s day.
The chance to walk outside without screwing my eyes so tight against the sun that it is less nascent crow’s feet and more imminent ploughed furrows.
To see my friends for a natter and a muffin, without tears or calls to the embassy being involved.
Most of all to know that, for now, no cases need to be packed and I can at last be here. At home.
There may not be brik, but there are so many smaller joys.
So hooray! for the mundanities.