Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends.
You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things: air, sleep, dreams, sea, the sky - all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
It’s all been straightforward, I’m here since yesterday and flying home this evening. No delayed flights but was made flying out of the shed / South terminal in Dublin which is a ballache
If I had to go, I’d prefer to go on the Sunday rather than ridiculously early on Monday.
If I had to go on the Sunday, I’d prefer to travel to Cambridge that evening/night rather than get a train from London to Cambridge on the Monday morning.
But why would I want to be heading off on work travel on a Sunday afternoon in December? Eeeeuuuugggghhhh.