The transition from the sun and relaxation of Barbados back to London, and reality, was always going to be tricky. It confirms all the arguments that flying is an unnatural thing to be doing. I need a longer period of adjustment. If only I weren’t so subject to sea sickness I’d be a strong advocate for sailing everywhere, to appreciate the distances we travel, and to allow a gradual advancement of the clock.
But none of that. One minute I was snorkling in the warm waters of the Caribbean (handily getting a touch of last day sunburn on the backs of my calves), the next I was having a glass of wine to ‘finish off’ the remaining bits and pieces in the fridge, and then three hours later I was sitting on a BA plane, rebelling against putting shoes and socks on, and hoping that it wouldn’t be too cold when we arrived in London.
I’d not thought about my flat while I was away, at all. I’d left it in the hands of a builder, charged with the job of repairing subsidence cracks and full redecoration. The anxiety about what I would find hit with full force, spiced with the extra tiredness of a sleepless night, as I was walking in from the station.
Thankfully, it was dusty but bright white, repaired but still very bare. I’ve spent the last day trying to get it back to normal, mopping the floor, rehanging curtains and taking the opportunity to swap the pictures around to give me a new perspective on each of them. But it’s slow work…..