Last week, I was home for the first time in 18 months. By home, I mean the garden city of Christchurch, New Zealand. This is the place at which I was born, educated, and where I left at 22 for the first time and 24 for the second time - permanently.
Flying back yesterday, over the alps, in the very early morning. The sun was just rising, and the light was just hitting the peaks of Mt Cook, and it looked truly spectacular. Twinge of nostalgia. Every time I go back and somehow expect it to be the same, and it isn't.
Back there again for Christmas. I guess I need to get over it.