I stalked the aisles of my local foodstore, looking at my fellow shoppers while I collected the ingredients for my evening feast.
"These people don't know about me," I thought to myself, "They don't know that yesterday I went wading into the sea from a snow covered beach. They don't know that I skiied down a mountain the day before. Heck, they don't know even know that a couple of nights ago I participated in a Rocky Horror strip party."
The thought amused me as I poked at the vegetables in search of an amusingly shaped carrot or potato that I could sell to one of the lower-end tabloids. It also distracted me from the memory of the final leg of the journey home.
Here's a phrase you never, ever want to hear at the gate (well, aside from "your pilot today is Captain Bin Laden"): "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm sorry to announce that the flight will be delayed for two hours due to severe weather at the destination airport and... er... hold on... ah, the Captain thinks he'll be able to fly through it ok, so we'll start boarding. Business first, please"
Yes, the last leg from Frankfurt was a little choppy. The drinks trolley was not pushed down the aisle for "safety reasons" - or rather the stewards and stewardesses were either too afraid to experience the bucking bronco ambience of the plane or were concerned about slipping on the vomit. Seriously - I've never seen so many people throwing up at the same time. Except for the time I was in the audience in a showing of Armageddon.
Next adventure... Dublin.
