If you’d like a warning, this is a highly unimportant post about family and personal stuff. If that’s not your thing, go and read the science category or something.
My parents came to visit over the weekend. Arriving after my early morning Friday class I was late meeting them on their drop off point from the airport. They had so many bags for such a short time. Luckily half of them were for me: extra clothes and bits and pieces.
As one should do when discovering a city, we did a lot of walking. On the Friday when we went to visit a friend at the BBC, when we met up with an old friend of my parents now working for part of the European Commission, when we were wandering the city to see interesting things and amazing buildings. We stopped off for various drinks of beer, good and bad coffee, organic food, a Turkish restaurant and more. It was great to see them but as I should have expected, it brings back all the ideas of missing family. I’ve seen them recently perhaps just as much as I would have done if I’d been in the UK but being in another country does make the distance feel a bit more substantive. When they left it was odd. Empty, like I’d convinced myself forget it could be. But it was great to have them visit.
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