I was up after five in the morning. The last minutes spent in my flat of a dozen years were anything but nostalgic: my mind was focused on checking I haven’t forgotten anything. Ending his shift Rob then drove me to the Cobra, where we sat and talked for some time, and after the last symbolic shot of Smuggler we went on to the bus station – and parted.
Initially I was understandably slightly down, but after a piss-and-fag break at Telč I found out I was feeling all right again, eventually realizing I was on the road again. On the road back home. I wouldn’t exactly say I was enjoying the flights, I was more looking forward to having it over and done with, but at last I was in Glasgow airport, taxis being spare took the shuttle to Buchanan St station, decided to walk the final one and a half miles despite the weight of my luggage – and around midnight I was back at Firhill Court.
I had a more or less pleasant trip. I do mean to visit the old country every few years or so, if only to meet my friends from the college and Rob; they’ll always be among the most important people in my life. But except for that, to quote the end of the song after which this blog was named, I’ve left this ship forever / There’s no treasure to be found.