Home

There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune; miss it and you're left up to your knees in sticky mud, watching the sail disappear below the horizon as gulls gyre and squawk above you.

My mood returning home today is very different from the happiness of my last southbound trainblog post. I am going to miss Ingrid and Hamburg, and I fear that the comforts of my own bed and kitchen will be pale substitutes.

Damn.