leaving bloody Tillé

Where it all began. The airport. A brief visit to Compiegne for lunch as it's only €1 each way on the local bus network. Was going to head for a Coq Hardi at Café Les Halles, opposite to where the Marche is in Beauvais is held, but on a Monday it is closed so walked up to the airport, picking up a fresh Tradi baguette, and now sit waiting for the time to pass before back to Leeds.

People whittering in which ever language they use to whitter and I had to have a beer before I explode. Cheapest option was way too expensive 1664. The bar on T2 is almost €12 a pint. The exclusivity of airports and the profiteering which goes on beggars belief! I will manage on just the baguette, and perhaps the sardines in the tin I've had since the first day, but it's just boredom which does it - eating. Something to distract me from a few hours facing the back of someone's seat and seeing if any of the aircrew are actually nice...

...

I have not seen a soul for days now every fucker is going every-fucking-where! It's enough to set me off. But two beers and a hasty glass of wine. If only there were more ferries from the UK to the continent, but then I'd be wedged in between day trippers... Then two more wines and I need to be alone.

Delayed. 

And I feel wedged in between the universe and those waiting to leave Beauvais. But can you ever leave?

Are you staring at me? Are you looking at me? All I want is the COVID flights when it was only me and the aircrew: but they still didn't communicate.