The homeward flight was uneventful. Before we left Boston Airport we phoned Patty to say goodbye. We mentioned the plans of John and Margaret to come to Scotland next year and how easy it would be for her to accompany them. To our surprise the thought was not immediately turned down. Obviously someone had been at her ear before us.
We arrived over the coast of Ireland as the dawn was coming up and were just
in time to see the Cumbraes and Millport and Largs with all the street
lamps
lit like sets of Christmas lights. We touched down as daylight was breaking
over Glasgow Airport. It wasn't raining but there was a dampness in the
air
we had come to forget.
We were in the house by a quarter past eight and in the bed by half-past.
Later in the day we would tackle a month-high pile of newspapers and mail
and start
to educate our bodies into the mysteries of British Summer Time and our
minds into working mode. Of course, it had been a marvellous holiday, every
single
place and day but right there and then there was no place like home.
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