Three... err I mean TWO!

As we walked from Paddington Station to Bayswater this morning, clattering our bags across the cobbles, even through our fatigue we could not help but notice the delicious liquorice monochrome of the trees, still leafless, almost as they were when we left them six months ago.  Once again we succumbed to an overwhelming feeling that time has simply stood still in our absence, as though we were returning the day after we left.

This feeling is neither deja vu nor surreality, perhaps it's between the two, as though we live in two parallel worlds instead of being conscious of the fact that we are actually living a string of consecutive experiences.

Jetlag has much to answer for.

Two, quite coincidentally I'm sure, is also the number of minutes it takes after boarding an aeroplane for me to remember how much I really don't like being encapsulated in that particular manner, and as it happens it is also the number that exactly represents the temperature when we arrived in London this morning.

Despite rumours to the contrary, spring has definitely not arrived, there is decidedly no heatwave and the blip on the records which showed a twenty degree maximum for a day or two last week was just that, a blip.

Perhaps one of the benefits of experiencing the numbness that jetlag brings, is that it leaves our senses oblivious to the temperature, or maybe that was due in part to the jackets that we had thoughtfully carried with us as we boarded to be used in the unlikely event of a thirty degree drop in temperature.