So tomorrow I'm flying back home to good old Ireland to visit the family for a week. The Easter weekend means I only had to book four days off work next week so I can chill out and not do fucking construction recruitment til the 12th April, which is nice.
I remember the last time I attempted to travel back to Derry, a few days after a rather nasty 'fall' I had here in Londontown, in late December. My original flight was cancelled and my parents had to book me an alternative one, which was great because hey, why not spend money on a flight three days before Christmas?
There was a fantastic moment where I had to get a £70 train to Birmingham for my flight from there and I was rather glum about how things were going for me, and a bit self-pitying and generally stupidly emo. Things were seemingly relentless in their general shite-hood (still no job, a 'bad fall', writer's block, depression, finding out Santa's not real etc etc etc) and I sat and scowled as we sped across the heart of England; tired, jaded and listening to Morrisey, because I'm a clichéd twat.
Then the sun burst and this is what I saw as we rocketed along, 'How Soon Is Now?' blaring in my ears and the hair on my neck shivering to attention:
And for some reason I was completely delighted. The fact that it was shrouded in mist was what did it. I couldn't for the life of me see where I was and didn't give a fuck. I could just imagine those fields going on and on til they reached the sea, without a soul for hundreds of miles. I was completely, truly alone, and sat in the empty carriage, grinning like an idiot.
It's weird, sometimes the tiniest of things can make you smile. Then again, sometimes it takes the coldest winter in decades, an overactive imagination, solitude and Johnny Marr's guitar virtuosity.
We'll see how tomorrow goes then. It's apparently been snowing back home all week...