Going Home?

I'm off to Blighty for twelve days, and this is filling me with conflicting emotions; some kind of nationalistic syncretism I suppose.

As with so many things in life, my feelings are likely summed up my Matt Johnson and The The

"I love and I hate this place, I ran away but I couldn't escape". That'll about do it.

Maybe I feel not so much home-sick as time-sick. What I crave for is not London per se, but what London, or the UK for that matter, meant to me at a certain time. Will it be the same now, or will it just be a dirty, smelly city full of overpriced food and pick-pockets? It would be like having a secret desire to go to England because of the films of Richard Curtis and then finding out it's not all Four Weddings, Notting Hill, Bridget Jones, Love Actually and snow at Christmas.

We'll see.

What I predict, with a reasonable degree of confidence is that my diet, not to mention my training, is going to see a not inconsiderable hit in the next ten days or so. I'll try and keep up the running, get out in the mornings, knowing I have a full coming up really soon. As for the diet, well, I'll letting that slide. You won't be seeing that thin guy on the cover of Optimyz for a while. Oh yes, it's going to be ten days of pork-pies

and jaffa cakes

and Marks and Spencers trifle

washed down with lashings of Lucozade.

And then when we hit London, Hot Salt Beef Bagels

From this place

Yes I know most of this stuff (bar the bagels) is available at Petes, but it just isn't the same having it here. Besides, I know probably I will only feel at home again once I have my first Tim Hortons on the way back from YHZ on the 12th; just so as I don't drive the car into a ditch you understand.

AD