Henry and his pug

Which reminds, me, we never got to the end of Pugs of the Frozen North, by Philip Reeve. Shame, we were really enjoying it. Henry and I took turns at reading a page.
 
A quick dash to Bracknell with Chiara to get two essential presents (how can I have been here a month without getting them? I'm lucky to have such an efficient daughter-cum-driver). Then my second-ever application of gel nails before meeting Chiara, James, Henry and HH for lunch at Café Rouge  - and a very good lunch it was, too. We also had a useful discussion about our future - to return to the UK or not, a vexed question. C & J were very understanding and had some helpful suggestions.
 
Back to the house for the standard nightmare of finishing the packing, then off to the airport (Chiara driving, yet again - she deserves a medal, and should know the way blindfold by now). The flight was fine, but more problems at Schiphol, when we came out at one gate, and my former boss (and host for the night) was waiting at another. We didn't have his mobile number - how can experienced travellers be so unprepared? - and only managed to contact him eventually after he got back home, at which point, we piled into a taxi. The driver, from Surinam, plied us with questions, and couldn't believe his ears when he heard we still worked. We must look even more ancient and decrepit than we thought - and that's saying something.
 
Good to see Henk again and catch up with his news and news of his children. It has been so long  since we saw them.