Friday, 7 January 2011

My week in Gothenburg

Oh, where to begin!

The thing that is most vivid in my memory is the view from outside the window as my plane left Stansted. The lights of civilisation below me, contrasted against the blankness brought by the night, like clusters of man-made stars.
You can say anything you like regarding the beauty of nature, but, to me, those lights were more beautiful than any mountain, any forest, any natural landscape you could find.

Of course, I was never supposed to be flying anywhere from Stansted Airport, but the weather likes to play tricks on us humans.
I suppose my flight back from Gothenburg had to be cancelled.
There's no way the universe would have let me have had such a, dare I say it, perfect time.

Hmm... How to explain...

Have you ever wanted to expect something, yet been so very scared that everything would go horribly wrong?
Have you ever then had that 'something' turn out to be better than you ever dared to expect?

My brain is, as usual, failing me. It doesn't want me to talk about how I hated the feeling of being 'squashed' on my flight from Edinburgh, or how I managed to become almost immune to it on the two flights that took me home. Nor does it want me to talk about how I made real Swedish meatballs or how a new card game was invented, or how I managed to spent a total of well over 24 hours in the corner of the most comfortable sofa in the world.

I want to promise that I will write about it later, or tomorrow, but...

All it really wants me to mention is one person.
Just one person.

And how much I miss them.

Give me a night's sleep and I'll try once again to amaze you with tales of snow, Crobin and Hallonsoda.


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October Wolfe
Jester of Misfortune.
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