Home again

Why does anyone travel for pleasure? There was nothing enjoyable about the journey home on Monday/Tuesday. Herded onto the plane like sheep, squashed into uncomfortable seats next to people you don't know and whose bare feet you'd be happy never to have seen, especially not while you're trying to eat. Impossible to sleep for more than about half an hour before the overexcitable teenager in the next seat starts bouncing in anticipation of seeing his boyfriend again, and you wish that you had ended up next to one of the many buddhist monks on the flight (are they still monks when they're female? And, also, what do they do for clothes in the seasons when maroon isn't really fashionable?). One of the few enjoyable moments was watching the group of aging rock stars (in their own minds, at least) pushing in front of the monks in the queue to get on the plane. Of course, the buddhists merely smiled and didn't get irritated. So then everyone pushed in front of them.

But it was worth it for this, the view from my bedroom window: