A stranger in my own land

That’s how I feel when I go back to the UK.

In fact it starts before I leave France sitting in the departure lounge at Bergerac – so many loud English voices and interesting behaviour like paying for priority booking and then standing for ages in a queue – couples who sit in rows of 3 leaving the middle seat empty so as to deter invaders…….. I buy my bottle of water, stick in my earphones and endure.

Stansted express and then across London I go – even though I know where I am going I feel slightly scared by so many people moving at speed surely one of those cardboard cups of coffee are going to give me a Starbucks hairdo one of these days – just squeeze onto the tube and find myself with my neck at a strange angle as it follows the roofline in closer proximity to strangers than I care for. Everyone wants to share their life with me too – mobile phones are treated as two tin cans connected by a piece of string in that people seem unconvinced that a message can be carried this way so it would be better to shout. A sudden drop in temperature had half the commuters dressed in winter boots and half bravely clinging to their summer outfits – I joined the latter group.

Through it all I could only thank my lucky stars that I live in a field far away from he madding crowd!

From this.......

From this.......

..........to this

..........to this

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