I have no idea when I am. Or what time I'm at.
Shuttled to pick up the car from some godforsaken industrial site then a quick adjust to having a gear stick and the steering wheel on the other side then out on to the god-awful grey and pot-holed ribbons of road populated by the early morning rush hour to the Kingston Bridge and beyond. Euan was sound asleep in about five minutes after not being able to sleep on the plane.
Home, cases dumped and cooried up on the couch under a blanket for a couple of hours cat-napping. Watching the golf with Peter Alliss' somnolent commentary helped with that. Chinese take-away ordered for breakfast/lunch/whatever and now watching the clock and trying to stay awake until a proper bed time. The golf wasn't helping with that so catching up with all the telly we've missed. That'll pass an hour maybe.
Three dash-cam shots combined here - one of the sunny, 34˚ drive to the airport along the I-4, and two of the 13˚ weather-warning wet route home at 6am this morning.
It's good to be home.
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