I Got Home

After crossing to Edinburgh on Friday, and spending a couple of days in the city where my parents spent their last days, I'm finally home. The train journey back was crowded but calm (I photographed my reflection in the luggage rack above). I got back yesterday, and found there is no hot water: the long wait for a gas engineer now begins. 

I am just so pleased to have done the gig in Glasgow. Apologies to my pals for stressing them so much with my 'progress reports'. It was actually really heartwarming to see people and catch up with them, and of course to play the show. 

I want to draw, but I'm too tired even for that. I managed to go to the shops, and also do the pile of washing that I brought back. It was so cold in the Youth Hostel where I stayed in Newcastle that I slept in my clothes. I remembered that the best places to eat and drink are Art Gallery cafés and not restaurants, unless it's Blakes in Newcastle. Shame on you Zizzi and Cote, and hats off, actually, to the shop Fenwick's in Newcastle (I'd do anything to get the recipe for the broccoli with... roasted hazelnuts? I don't know, but it was lovely), and hats off to the National Portrait Gallery of Scotland and the Fruitmarket Gallery. Boo to the curry restaurant that tried to bribe me to do a good review on Tripadvisor with a pen and two chocolates. Ring-a-ding-ding to Marks and Spencer's blueberries, and to Till for his amazing salad. 

Ah, home. Draughty, small, cluttered, a bit gloomy. Guitar store and archive of many drawings; tins of black beans in the cupboard, piles of unread books. Moth holes galore, indoor plants putting on growth spurts at unlikely moments. The sound of traffic speeding past my front door, whooshing in the rain.

No Christmas decorations this year, and no cards either; the postal strike has meant no letters for three weeks so far. But there is a big Lindt chocolate Santa in the drawer. At least, nine tenths of one. Or seven eighths. Or three quarters... or a half.... or......