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Three weeks. Three weeks travelling the length of the country to work on a distant client site. Three weeks living in a hotel room. I guess three weeks isn't that long in the grand scheme of things – but given the various things going on at home at the moment, three weeks was long enough.
Back in 2010 I lived in a Hilton for the best part of three months – departing on Monday morning each week, and returning on Thursday evenings. I'm still not sure how I did it. Of course thinking back further there was the London adventure of 2007 and 2008, when I commuted into the heart of the city each day – two hours each way.
Thus far the journey home has been uneventful, but strangely entertaining. After waiting on the railway station platform for quite some time for my train to arrive, an old man still managed to barge in front of me when the train finally arrived. The fact that the inner doors then closed ON him, nearly cutting his nose off and causing him to stagger backwards wasn't funny at all, honest (actually, it was incredibly funny).
I now have the best part of 2 hours to amuse myself before we arrive at London Euston. I'll fish the Kindle tablet from my bag in a minute and try to finish the book that's been plagueing me for the last several weeks. Once we reach Euston, I've learned the hard way not to descend immediately into the Underground, but to walk along the street to Euston Square. The signs pointing towards the “Circle Line” mysteriously run out if you try to get there via the Euston mainline station. It's very odd.
(several hours pass)
I got home at 8:15. It's still midnight and I've not seen my other half yet – my return was her freedom ticket to visit her friends. I put the children to bed, ordered a pizza, and sat and watched a movie.
While wandering into the kitchen half-way through the movie, it struck me that it was a novelty to have a fridge full of food, and to be able to wander into the kitchen and decide what to make. For the last several weeks the hotel has become my “normal” – where I can only make the instant coffee I bought at the supermarket, and the only hot meals are the various items on the menu at the pub next door.
Freedom is a curious, and giddy thing.