small note

The changing times... I'm on a train from London to Edinburgh - it stops at Newcastle on the way. Through the free wi-fi connection I noticed the breaking news on the 'net that Geordie legend Kevin Keegan has once again been given the job as manager of Newcastle United. Within minutes, a chorus of text beeps and odd ring tones rang throughout the carriage, followed by a chorus of Geordie accents asking the people on the other line if they'd heard the news. A few muttered lines of punter opinion followed and there are whispers throughout the train, among fellow Geordies, strangers talking about the announcement. 

Everyone knew within minutes. 

We're on a train. 

arriving at Perpignan

The airport reminds me of Key West. Small, a bit dirty - the sort of dirty you get when it's warm enough to leave the doors open year-round. The terminal building is a 50's retro throwback, only a storey high. A few tired palm trees, bored of winter, line the outside. You walk straight in from the plane, no gates or such. Passport check, arrivals lounge and baggage claim are all one room. 

I barely mumble bonjour and merci when the man casts a glance at my passport. Too shy to enunciate. 

It's not warm, but it's not cold either. My scarf feels pointless. I could be in a t-shirt, but only for a minute or two. The air smells good, and feels good. There's warmth in it, and a touch of the sea. You can almost taste it. The sky's low, the clouds dark, but it's still mild. 

I feel elsewhere. 

Somewhere different, somewhere new.