Home is both the here and now - Los Angeles in a time of coronavirus - and is nearly 6,000 miles away, on a quick Skype call with my father between meetings. It's the distance between one sunny backyard and another (so sunny, indeed, that my father is wearing a hat in order to enjoy, doubtless, his pint and pipe outdoors). He's looking decidedly spry, especially for 96.
And yes - of course it's worrying being such a long way away, with no inkling whatsoever of when it's going to be safe to get on a plane again. On the other hand, Skype is a remarkable invention. I can remember when I was much younger swearing vehemently that I would never, ever get or use a phone where you could see the person at the other end - the very idea was terrifying and repellent to me (quite why, I can't remember - I think I didn't much care for the idea of having to look respectable and presentable at any time). The fact that it might have its benefits would have been as remote to me as the possibility that I might, one day, live at a vast distance from London ...
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