I flew home from Australia earlier this week. I left my beloved family behind, standing and waving at the International Departures gate, by that bleak place where you go through into the no-man's-land of air travel. It was so hard to say goodbye, and to see that eager little face of my youngest grand daughter, with her hand held up to wave farewell. I don't think she really understood that I was going, but I did. The only consolation was that we will back in a few months time for Christmas and our son's wedding to his lovely lady.
The two flights were painless, the long hours whiled away reading, dosing fitfully, watching a couple of films and eating airline food. The second flight was during the hours of daylight and zooming along at about 32,000 feet I looked out of the window and realised we were flying over Iraq. Hmmm. A curious arrangement below, I am not sure what is going on here!
The course of the River Tigris was clear to see as it snaked its way through the country.
These are mountain ranges as we crossed over Turkey.
And finally, on the opening day of the Commonwealth Games, I reached Glasgow Queen Street station, where a very small reception committee was waiting to meet a distinguished athlete. I heard later he wasn't coming. I hope someone told her. She was wearing tartan tights and looked a bit homemade, so maybe she was a spoof. Hard to say.