With Brexit in the works AeroBrit seems to be relegated to the same far reaches of the Venetian
tarmac as Aeroflot but, once in the air,
we don’t care.
Over Europe, looking down at the skeins of roads, geometries of agriculture and clotted settlements the planet appears irreparably damaged, most likely
infected…and indeed may be ripe to reject it/them/us…nonetheless it was a beautiful
landing in London.
Although Christo still hadn’t cleaned up his ‘mastaba’ and there was massive and inexplicable
Monday traffic in from Heathrow as soon as we were home Rick, too long away from the Aga,
was immediately cooking a chicken [not shown] which turned out splendidly.
Next morning first thing it was us in an Uber to St. Pancras for the Eurostar,
grimy windows on a grimy day
tunneling to Europe and Paris where we managed to find that other train, Le Metro,
to St. Germain and 2 Rue Furstemburg
where just as I fumbled for my phone to call upstairs who should magically appear but Serge, our generous host, to lead us up the steep four flights to his ancestral apartment…
