I’m sat silently, with just a coffee for company.
The sun is still rising, yet it is already baking my skin. A shimmer dances across the dark blue sea separating this Greek island from the next. Every so often, a gentle breeze carries the scent of a nearby fig tree. Fresh, sweet and quietly complex.
It is my first day back in Sheffield.
I walk through a chilly city centre on my way to get my hair cut for the first time in two months.
I feel a little downbeat at being back in the grey monotone of the UK. The streets seem surprisingly quiet. Desolate, even. The energetic rhythm of South East Asia is already becoming a fading memory, much like the energy that only a few days ago was powered by sunshine, beaches and warm seas.
I had a random thought the other day. Ironically, it involved Karl Pilkington.
In a world of endless “Top 10 things to do in…” lists and “Come with me for a day in…” videos, Karl Pilkington may have accidentally become one of the most useful travel influencers of the modern era. Which is unfortunate, because he’d probably hate being described that way.
I’m face down in the water, floating in rhythm with the waves. There’s a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant hum of a boat engine somewhere further out at sea.
More, as it comes
