Such relief to discard work boots for a few weeks of flip flop freedom. One, rigid and restrained. Practical. Necessary. Occasionally smart. The other carefree, well travelled, allowing air to the bones and breathing space to the sole.
The boots left in the junk room where flip flops hibernate through winter months. Poor boots, they deserve a holiday too.
The trip starts in fine fettle. A few beers with good friends before boarding the coach. Sleep beers to heavy the eyelids. Surprisingly nice coach for England. Seats to myself to wrap my oversized frame into. Crash pad booked for a night or two in Brunei. No other plans, see what the weeks throw at me. Reading's a must, and writing too. Must write.
I settle in my seat and turn a few pages. Angela's Ashes. A first novel - autobiographical. They all are. Busy week at work. Glad to be away. Love my team, but can't help feel I've overstayed my welcome. Time for fields new, a fresh start. I turn the same page three times. I feel a westerly wind blowing on my return. A challenge, a renewal. Page 5 still. I rest my book and wait for the cogs to slow down. Hope Grandad's ok. It's been a tough week for the folks too. Hate that aspect of going away. Part of me hopes everything has changed on my return. But not Grandad. No change there please. Brain overload. Borrowed iPod time. No idea what music's on it. Shuffle will do...
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