(As two guys coming from the town I was born and brought up in called it. Funnily I only knew them in the National Service, some 180 miles away.)
It began in Glasgow, where upon arrival to the airport I was told my flight was one hour delayed. In Stansted I did have time for a very quick fag, but in Brae it was only me who arrived, not my rucksack. We filled in the form and I continued by train. At least I got a call from Rob when I was in SnO, which somewhat improved my mood.
The next day I spent with my parents, which is no longer as hard as it used to be; it also had a particular, rather good perk this time, and the Brae airport called the rucksack arrived. But it wasn’t before I was riding in the local train from NJ the following day that I realized I actually liked the country – as long as I knew I didn’t have to go on living there or even keep returning on a regular basis.
Some time later I sat in a bus – possibly the shortest replacement bus service I ever had to use (between two towns less than 3 miles distant from each other), but I felt I was finally beginning to enjoy the trip.
(First published on Blogger in April ’12.)