An e-mail arrives and from the subject line it looks like travel may, once again, be involved.
Will they? Would they? Could they ask me to head back to the place of pointy piles of stones and rubber bullets? I mean, would they? I think to myself, 'Hay guys, let's give it a while to sort it's self out, okay?'
I hover my trembling index finger, right one, over the mouse’s clicky button, left one. With trepidation, I press the button. Nothing happens. I look down. I missed the button. Rather than looking up at the screen, I keep looking down and concentrate on the job in hand and try again. There's a satisfying 'click' indicating stuff should be happening and opening.
I shift my concentration from my right index finger and the mouse up to the computer screen. Sure enough, the mail has opened into reading mode.
Nothing left to do but read it I guess, so I read it.
With relief, I happily look forward to preparing for a trip, next week, to a place far, far, far away. A place of sunshine, smiley shiny people and perfect order. Pardon? It may well be, but no, it's much farther away than Luton.
Quote; ??
"War doesn't determine who is right, war determines who is left."
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