Made it

Well, I'm back in the great white north and it's definitely living up to its name. It's white, and very cold and windy.

Flight was a long slog - almost nine hours, but I've made it and I'm glad to not have to see an airport for another few weeks. My mate G went to the airport with me, and for that I'm more grateful than I think he'll ever know. Travelling can be a rather lonely experience and to have a friendly face see you off is worth more than anything.

My face

Dunno if it's due to age, but my face feels like I've been vigourously scrubbing with sand paper and I really put it down to the wintery weather here. I did live 20 years with these conditions, so it must be age, or I'm just getting so doddery I don't remember.

Faker

As much as I look forward to my visits back to Canada, there's something rather fake about the whole existence here. London is becoming a depressing hovel, but there's an overwhelming sense of fakery about being here... like someone's going to yell cut at any time, or the backdrop will fall away and show real life at some point. It's hard to contextualise, but it doesn't seem real.

Aside from that, it's great seeing friends and family. It's rather crap, however, realising that as friends start to have families, I'll only ever be that weird guy that's around a couple of days a year, and not an integral "uncle" figure.

As they say, I made my bed and now I have to lie in it. I'm also increasingly aware that I need to be careful for what I wish for.