Already the morning has gone and I have done nothing about getting my stuff together for the journey to Britain. Not only the physical impedimenta that is necessary for modern travel but also the psychological help which is essential for those benighted souls who are flying into Luton (breathe in not in Garth) rather than a real airport.
The only time I have been to Luton was when a flight was diverted there. The placed was like a morgue and I was glad to get out of there. Perhaps things have changed.
I can hardly contain my excitement at staying in High Wickam – a new geographical experience. Not to mention collecting my delayed birthday present of my “treated” laptop which should (I have complete faith) allow me to see British TV programmes via the internet and the Pauls’ digibox. Time will tell.