At gatwick next to the love of my life with a coffee We managed to charm down the price of and bought with our last pennies. Someone called Matt has been called to the gate about five times, he’s about to miss his plane to Dublin. we wonder all what Matt is doing. josh Garrles is singing long way back home, n is reading his book and I’m trying to cling on to holiday mood for just a little bit longer.
It’s been fantastic, England, old and new friends, family and an abundance of rain, beer and Yorkshire tea. I’ve seen a flooded Lake District and cried in a strangers kitchen, walked the rolling hills until my legs have been trembling and probably eaten my own weight in mince pies.
There has been an unlikely kind of pilgrimage, like the one of Harold Fry on his way to Queenie, a walk with an unclear aim consisting of putting one step in front of the other. No idea of what arriving is going to be like, if it’s even going to happen. Painful steps, sometimes limping, sometimes barely moving at all. The North of the compass somehow constantly changing. It seems more and more vague whether it’s even about arriving somewhere anymore, or if it’s all about the meetings on the way. Pierced my ear to remember I was here, to remember it was good. To welcome 2016 and give Domnul Isuse a wink and a nod. I’m back in the game.