I am whole again. After yesterday morning's journey through Hell, I am once again able to write.
It was raining, gargantuan sheets of water that stung my face and smashed down my body and legs, soaking my trousers and jacket through the waterproof.
I sat down to write about it, in some way purging myself of the memory, when I realised the true magnitude of the horror. I had forgotten my pen!!!

Me without a pen is like a samurai without his katana. Luckily I had a movie magazine to while some time with, or I would have gone insane for sure.

Coming back was infinitely better. I arrived at the station with 10 minutes to spare, to find out that the train I needed to make my connection was delayed by 20 minutes. I eventually missed the connection by 3 minutes, which meant I was looking at a 40 minute wait.

And then, halfway through my macaroon and latte, my phone rang.

All of my woes were forgotten for the rest of the day, and I arrived at home at 7:30, three hours after setting off, quite content, and still talking at length to the wonderful girl who was aware of the spiralling cost of the conversation, but reluctant to curtail it.

I love conversations like this, with pregnant pauses, when we're both too breathless to speak.

And those wistful moments of regret that we were born in the wrong place.