Here in Putney, beneath the Heathrow flight path, people scarcely glance up when another plane passes over - it's literally a minute-ly occurrence. The buses throb across the bridge, the trains rumble past, dogs, cycles and mounted police go through the gate into Wandsworth Park next door, and mothers with high-tech push chairs trot past glued to their cellphones.
It's a busy place; there's a lot going on here. We've been busy too, over the last three weeks: it feels like months since we were at home. We've covered so much ground, seen so many places, been told so much history, said "That's so interesting!" and "Isn't it beautiful here?" so many times. And the glasses of cider, the pork pies, the Marks & Sparks sandwiches, the Walkers crisps, the Soreen malt loaf...
It's been a brilliant trip and already I want to come again - but right now? I want to click my heels together and be home.
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