Once Upon a Junction

It's one o'clock in the morning and I'm about to turn the lights off,  as tomorrow, someone undetermined is likely to appear at my door at an undetermined hour.

These past days I've been very very busy, not busy-but-here-with-Lizzy, as it is usually the case. Luckily I love plannings and I kind of have plans b, c, d, and z, because Ithese past days I've had to use them all, changing from one to the next one moment to the next.

Summary: it's my last night in my London home, where, since Thursday, no one but me is living in, and where I wasn't supposed to be by now either, but well, plan c. Tomorrow I'll be moving to a little hotel near Victoria, in which I will stay until Wed, the day I fly back home. Woohoo.

I was going to tell you about my last bus ride on my 87, or my way back home through the Common, or how ridiculous I felt when I felt -ahem- a knot in my throat as I was paying at Tesco Express for the last time. You know, the sort of silly things that only someone who is already nostalgic, even before leaving a place they don't really, really, really want to leave -oh, saudades..- can think about on their last night.

Against all odds, I don't feel chatty, though. Not really. But I wanted to, I don't know, leave something written, somewhere, about it. You've already read what it says there, on the right, about the written word. So, there.

Good night.