part of the trip

Travel writing from home is a rum concept, but there is catharsis in recording. A distancing in narrative; writing events akin to resting them. I'm back in the UK until December 4th and already it feels a confusing hiatus. I'll need an all part of the trip approach to weather it. A rigour to keep moving, keep focussed. I'm only two days ride from Armenia...

But I enjoyed British Airways' caricatured mini-England in the sky; complimentary gin and Alan Partridge re-runs. Later, hobbling my awkward box through under and overground to Hackney for catch-up breakfast, London's markets and multiculture were a perfect decompression chamber. Cockney-patois vendors shouting their Asian fruit and Turkish agents advertising flights to all the signposts I've just ridden past. A fantastic hi-vis peloton of commuters down the Kingsland Highstreet. Bristol was a nostalgic tour of premature reunion, missed people and situations. Sociable kitchens at Banner Road and Sevier Street. The Cadbury House for James' special records and Westy's cynical white wine routine. Seb's Wednesday line-clean (my Thursday headache) in the Full Moon. Speeding a roadbike between Montpelier and Easton. It is reassuringly all still here and much the same. Damp but thankfully normal(ish) clothes out the loft. Gorging on espresso, bin-fresh croissants and free minutes. Fielding the inevitable phone teasing from old workmates. There are new things, too. Charming young Elias. My sister as Mother; myself as Uncle. A second beehive on the allotment. Proper late-Autumn, street murals and friends' news. My own altered context - mindframe - being a guest at home.

The crippled frame is in Leeds waiting its four week queue, respray colour preference in the envelope attached. I am in Manchester with friends and their friends waiting for Bradford's Pakistani Consulate to open, getting anxious and spoilt. Crowded clubs and late breakfasts. This morning there was a glimmer of frost. Tonight I'll see Anna in Preston. Friends in Leeds, cousins in Stockport. The sudden shift from near consummate autonomy to necessary dependency (I knew I should've brought the tent) leaves me petulant and alcoholic; grateful to see people but automatically a little resentful of arrangements and expectation. As ever I'm blessed with abundant good grace from my welcomers. Thank you all for the offers of sofas, sparerooms and lifts - pray forgive my shabby sociability.