Coming up for air

**

It seems as though scarcely a blink has passed, yet somehow it is the end of March, a quarter of the year having sped past. Winter, a not particularly difficult one as I recall, has been and gone. Incessant rain interspersed with sunshine, longer days and the first sight of flowers blossoming all point to spring on the horizon, and how have I needed that! There is also the small matter of a milestone of sorts - four months in the new gig. A semblance of routine has taken root: Monday night flights to the continent, three days of hard work, and a late return to London on Thursday nights, followed by some work from home on Fridays.

Stopping by in the N/E and catching up with U was a much needed break from the monotony. I am finding that nothing pleasantly surprises me more these days than the joy of friendly faces in middle-of-nowhere places, not that Hull is quite the middle of nowhere even though given the hoops I had to jump through to get there, it might as well have been. The trains were a nightmare - standing room only - turning what should have been a run of the mill Sunday evening hop to Sheffield and then onwards into an epic battle of wits and patience.

Frequent trips to the continent add an element of excitement to my life at the moment, given the occasional propensity of the Dutch train system to collapse on itself, not unlike the sporadic East Midlands-induced kerfuffles. Three incidents stand out: one where the driver reached his maximum hours, leaving the train company scrambling to find a replacement; another involving train works redirecting me from Rotterdam to my regular stop and back again; and a third where the train was delayed for over an hour with announcements solely in Dutch.

Passing through Schiphol airport twice a week or so has put Brexit into perspective, especially waiting in line for entry/exit stamps. The looming spectre of ninety-day limits weighs heavily on my mind, prompting me to create a spreadsheet to track my cumulative days spent over the past 180. Tempers have occasionally flared; I witnessed a tense moment between a burly airport security officer and a passenger, nearly coming to blows over directions to the passport queue. "I'm British," the passenger vehemently declared as he reluctantly joined us in the queue alongside other Brexit-affected plebs. If there is a silver lining to all the travel, it is getting back on my book reading and podcast horse. The Poetry Unbound pod is a perennial favourite, though I am finding the draw of the last season less strong. I did pick up a new favourite though, Sandra Cisnero’s When in doubt one I have come back to again and again along with previous favourites.

Having Fridays and Mondays back home afford me the opportunity to do the school drop offs, and the joys of seeing L blossom into a precocious almost three year old. Ne’er a day passes without us being regaled of some event involving a best friend N. A chance meeting with N’s mum the other day suggests the admiration is mutual. Surely it is too early for her to give me a heart attack? She has also somehow taken a shine to Nigerian gospel music with the likes of “Big God” and “Over” getting extreme plays. I shudder at what this year’s Spotify wrapped for me will look like.

Simmering at the back of my mind is the question of what to do with this space. Back when I finally kicked it off, it was a good way to get some thoughts down - and navel gaze/belly ache about being out in the middle of nowhere. As P pointed out the other day, I am still a prodigal of sorts; just one who has less to belly ache about. What that truly means remains to be seen, I suspect.

Oh… and Happy Easter…