It seems a long time ago that we were eating our breakfast at the Gail's on St Pancras Station, and then hauling our cases off the Heathrow: this piece of elderly Tube tiling seemed to offer an appropriate message. It also reminded me strongly of the 1968 Hogarth Press edition of Mrs Dalloway (which might be a decidedly specialized reminder).
But that also took me obliquely back to Essaouira, and our small hotel, with our room's little shelf of discarded holiday reading, which included a copy of my Penguin edition of The Waves - it was fun to see it out in the wild.
And back in LA ... it was great to overlap briefly with half of our cat sitters, and of course to greet Moth and Gramsci (who seem pleased enough to see us, but have obviously been having the time of their adored lives in our absence) and to check how much the garden's grown, which includes the emergence of some outrageously spectacular mallows. But, yes, it was long.
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