On the way

Goodbyes really suck. To see Alan standing in the porch waving me off, when I know I won't see him for at least another six days is hard.

I got a taxi driven by the only cabbie who didn't have an opinion on everything and who had never been to Brighton. Still pleasant to chat to though. Smooth journey to International in about six minutes flat, and now I am sitting on a train waiting to leave for New Street in 7 minutes. I seem to have the world's supply of luggage. Still, I am armed with something called a Ginsters Pepper Steak Slice, and a bottle of Lucozade, historically something I used to drink when I had a hangover. Neither are helping. X



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