October ninth, the afternoon before leaving, despite few of us having packed we walked

with Rick and Tycho

to  Golders Green to pay our respects

to the lemurs.

After a prosecco-enhanced last dinner of bolognese, succotash, more wine and conversation somewhat into the evening we dispersed to fill our suitcases as Wednesday morning, early, Rick and Sandra were off to Malta for Caravaggios in addition to some intriguing neolithic ruins.   We left soon after as well for the mild chaos of Heathrow security and an hour Lounging until the long trek afoot, by train and afoot again to our departure gate to wait again. The plane boarded late and extremely strangely; random single passengers, their randomly located mates, children, an occasional invalid…finally the ‘Groups” were called and we proceeded

to our windowless interior pods for that complimentary champagne, an eventual take-off, food and wine.  I messed with photos most of the trip, didn’t doze much [a medical

emergency midway down the aisle halfway through the brief “night” being partially responsible]

and towards the end began watching “Fury Road” with the sound off [much less frenetic

than the trailer indicates] until interrupted by our landing in SFO

three clock hours after leaving Heathrow.

After a long walk we pretty much breezed through American Automated Customs, recovered our luggage and lugged it out to the curb into screaming late afternoon sun only to discover that Scott, our ride, was stranded in hideous traffic on the other side of the Bay.

After an hour or so sitting [he in his car we in Arrivals] we connected and were away into mild

Bay Airs to Benicia with time to call for Thai green curry, unpack while waiting, and early

[six in the London morning] to bed to sleep. Perchance to dream of gondolas, war canoes, Carpaccios, Tintorretos, dogs on the Heath, capreses…canales but no Canalettos.

Perchance just to sleep…