Going not home

Really? Ten months since I was last on a plane? That’s so gloomifying, sigh. And it was to Christchurch last time too - which is perfectly fine, no complaints there. I was pleased to swoop down over the plains and braided rivers on a sunny winter afternoon, even if it was to drive with my sisters to my father’s house, to draw lines, close doors, place full stops, all that. There was a bellbird singing in the garden and the distant mountains were shining in the sun beyond the trees of the city, which was green and neat and pretty.

I went back to the same hotel, the Mayfair, which is better now than it was then, at its beginning, and I liked my room and was proud to work out all its fancy electronics. Despite all that tech though, it was quaint to note, in the lift, that superstitions still rule - apparently, East Asian cultures view 4 the same way we do 13 (the owner’s wife is Japanese):

That’s because, in Japanese, the word ‘four’ sounds like ‘death’. That’ll do for today’s connection.