Travel. What a fucking drag.
We arrived in Holland, greeted by blue skies, and a three hour wait for a 30 minute flight over the North Sea. Thirty minutes of flying put us under a grey sky and drizzle. Nothing says welcome back to England like 3 degrees, and a light rain!
Fortunately the next week was big, dark blue, Norfolk skies. And despite us both having colds that we haven’t managed to shake until arriving in London, we got out everyday and walked for hours on the coast, through derelict churches, and in the woods. How many people get to go to england on holiday and come back with a suntan?
It would appear that i’d got pretty rundown getting psyched up to come over here. It has taken over a week to get some feeling of calm. Coming to London generally doesn’t do my mood much good, but this time, despite sporting a raging-hate-on as the train pulled into Liverpool St., i’ve woken up feeling remarkably calm and clear headed.
[Walking around near Golbourne Rd. yesterday taking photographs, a girl came out of a shop to tell me that i couldn’t take pictures. Having lowered the camera to make sure that i heard her correctly, i gave a laugh, and took her picture. Was very proud of myself for just laughing and walking off… but WTF?!]
Lacking any commitments, other than a drink with old friends, i’m planning to wander around museums, holding hands, and regularly reminding myself that this is a holiday. This is a holiday. This is a holiday.