05 March 2008

Quinctili Vare, legiones redde!

Right, so having taught my last two classes of this absurdly short term -- on laws regarding cleanliness and Godliness in ancient Greek city-states, since you don't ask -- I'm heading off for the airport in a moment.

The plan is to fly to Stansted this evening and spend the night at my sister's, with her, my brother-in-law, and my niece. I hope they won't be too traumatised on seeing me. Last time I saw them was more than six months ago, and I'd just had my hair cut. It's not been touched since, and now leaves me more than slightly reminiscent of Han Solo in the original Star Wars film.

Only cooler, and more handsome, of course.

Curiously, the week I had my barnet last pruned also saw me seeing three very dear friends just before they departed to Brazil, France, and the United States respectively. I've not seen them since. I've half a mind to leave my hair untouched until they shall be returned to me. Like Augustus, I guess, after the disaster of the Teutoburger Forest. . .

I'll be getting a bus from the airport to Chelmsford, but although I've drawn a map in case I need to walk to the house, I'm rather hoping I'll be picked up when I arrive. Worried inspection of the maps just a few minutes ago suggests that I must have engaged in my rudimentary cartographic endeavours while drunk and without my glasses, probably under cover of darkness.

This doesn't bode well. Wish me luck.

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