One week ago I was somewhere aloft more or less over India, if my guess is right, either snoozing, watching Larry David on the little foldup screen from my seat arm, or watching the sunrise we were flying into as it gradually came flowing over the cloudscape toward us.  (Breathtaking, that was, even when viewed hunched over against a little oval of perspex.  Watching the hills and turrets of cloud on the horizon grow into definition against the band of brightening grey, take on three dimensions and then colours and textures and shadows, brightening from grey to dusty pink-red to orange to white.)  In about twelve hours I’ll have had my feet on home soil for a full week, and hopefully some of the odd, floaty, am-I-really-back sensation will have abated somewhat.

I have emails and letters to catch up on from the trip, and blog posts, too, which I’ll try and put up before all the usable impressions of England have eroded away.  In the meantime, I leave you with the tale of two Chinese sisters who are responding to the inadequacy of the local menfolk by insisting that potential suitors must defeat them in single combat:

“‘We tried dating agencies but the men we met were all to [sic] weak. We could beat them easily.”