Thursday 6th June 2019

D Day (75th anniversary of)

Time to go home.

It has been 8 days since I was home, I really want to get back. A lot.

I am awake at five, four in the UK, but too excited to go back to sleep. So I get up, shower and pack.

For a change, I double check the whole room and am satisfied I have forgotten nothing.

I go downstairs, pay the bill, and got to the car, throw my case in the back and climb in.

Phew.

It is a clear morning, so wonderful driving north to Billund, the Thrift that used to line the roads has now been replaced by lupins. Thousands of them, mostly blue and purple. But pinks and whites mixed in. And lots of sorrel. With the low sun and its warm light, each spike looked like a flame. It was magical, and I was entranced for the half hour drive up the 30. I didn't stop to snap it, as I don't think the compact would have done the sight justice, but I did see it.

I reach the airport, drop the car off and check my case off. There is no queue anywhere, for a change. So I am up through security, and after buying a bottle of Belgian beer, I find a table, check mails, and then wait for the flight to be called.

I did look at the Lego shop. I mean, I like Lego, but baulk at paying £175 for a wind turbine, or nearly £300 for a Harry Potter castle.

The flight is called, so I amble to the gate, we have reserved seats, and will just have to wait at the gate, so why hurry? beats me.

I have my usual seat, so strap myself in, read the in flight magazine, and once in the air and cruising, I have breakfast and a coffee then doze until we start to drop onto final approach.

We pass along the Thames estuary, I see Thanet in the distance, and kid myself I can see where our house in the blue haze, near to where the cliffs rear up the other side of Pegwell Bay. A little further on, a ship is sailing into Sheerness, and traffic backed up on the Dartford Crossing.

We land, and I don't think there is quite enough time to make the early flight, especially as we are on an outlying pan, and need to wait for a bus to take us to the terminal.

But when I get to the reclaim, my bag is waiting, and onto the station and a train arrives within 60 seconds. Twenty five minutes to go.

I was looking forward to having a coffee at Stratford, so not bothered about making the early train.

I get onto the concourse at 09:41, three minutes. I fish out my ticket, scramble down the escalator, and onto the platform as the Dover train rolled in.

At Dover, there were no Taxis, so I wait. And wait. And wait.

Bloke turns up, and he puts my base in the back and drives me up to St Maggies.

I am so happy.

He drops me off on Station Road, and I walk with the case along the street to the house. Scully is waiting on the windowsill meowing for food.

I am home.

I feed her, and she is happy. Or I suppose she is.

I unpack, put my laundry in the machine, add the detergent and press start.

I make a brew, put my case away, and after dinner of fruit and cheese toasties, I do two hour s work, meaning I won't feel guilty when I have Friday off.

Jools has made guacamole, salsa and bought sour cream, so once she is back, I put a load of doritos on a plate, grate cheese and toast them.

And I open once of the huge bottles of Belgian beer, pour half, and toast my good fortune.

One of the real joys of coming home, is looking round the garden to see what has grown and by how much. The garden is a riot of colours, Lupins are past their best, but foxgloves are opening, there are crowds of poppies, horseshoe vetch everywhere and yellow rattle in bloom and setting seed. There are bees everywhere.

For the evening, there is more football. England v Holland, and, well, England were not that good, lost 3-1, so that's the end of that.

I go to bed.

Home.

Scully joins me, purring. I would purr too if I could.