So I’m back at work; you can probably tell as i’ve not written anything for days, leaving you the faithful cult members, baying for more, silently, but in your heads, and being a mind reader as well as my real name being  Brian Washer, it all begins to make some sort of warped sense.

My Mum, bless her, Mrs Pot Washer, called me up in a tizz to see if i’d got home safely, the only way she has to find out such things is through the wretched printed media (Daily Mail) and BBC rolling news, with Sky news and Channel 4 News thrown in, with a sprinkling of non news based show, “The Chase” (a shit quiz show) and continual repeats of “Would I lie to You?” on Dave. So to hear that all had passed smoothly, and we were probably delayed for 30 minutes was a unexpected surprise for her. People were trapped in Airports for hours and hours on end, but seemingly not as many as was initially reported by The Daily Mail, largely due to immigrants or young people, I’d imagine.

The flight went without a hitch aside from myself finally catching up to the present of “The Beef and Dairy Network”, and now i feel bereft, I need a new walking companion. So, with virtually no tremors of turbulence until descending into the thick foggy Mizzly Drizzle of Brizzle Airport, we arrived at our home destination, we walked from the plane across the tarmac into the brutalist architecture of the arrivals “lounge” in dire need of a lick of paint and a personality change. It was depressing to arrive home, and the faces allowing us back in looked apologetic and resentful of us at the same time, sad they hadn’t hitched a ride in our kingsize suitcase yet pissed off we hadn’t given them the chance. Were it not for my 18 t-shirts ( I wore 10 max) then there may have been room and Mrs T may not have had to remove some of her clothes. I just think my clothes are more dense. Luggage came through the conveyor, there was always the family huddle  to make sure everything was where it was, stowing the passports away for another year, before negotiating the “Goods to Declare” corridor, a meaningless chicane who se sole purpose is to extend the passing through to Britain proper, the wretched island where no one seems to take responsibility for anything. Its a worrying trend, but I’m back at work and will remain so until I win the lottery.