I got up on Friday morning, had breakfast (I had a yogurt that was mixed with Channel Island cream, I'd call that dessert, not breakfast) and went to the airport late in the morning. I sat on a plane -- and then on another (after running through a Middle Eastern airport with my name blazing through the public announcement system in a "last call" warning).
When I got off that plane, it was Saturday afternoon. I had lost Friday night somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Because I never went to bed between Friday and Saturday, my body now won't accept that today is Sunday. And worse, tomorrow is Monday and I'm to be back at work.
I woke up this morning with the dogs pressed against my legs and it feels like I've never left. Waking up in the Earls Court flat, on the barge, in R's house with her cats, in the Coventry B&B seemed like a series of dreams.
But my mind feels freer, looser, all the better for days of seeing green fields stretching into the horizon, for the horses, sheepses and cowses dotting the landscape.
Yes, I've had a wonderful holiday.