I went to two football matches today. In the evening, one at the Tottenham Hotspur stadium, a vast construction of steel and glass and with all these escalators that make it look like an airport. In the morning, here — Hackney Marshes, with none of those things. I have to say, I preferred the morning.
This trip started in London on 6th January and ends here too. But it’s time to go home.
Struggled to find a particularly interesting photo once I got to the end of the day, but this one will do, with its frisky dogs and imposing architecture. This is the church of Waltham Abbey, in Essex, where I happened to find myself for the afternoon. The last of all the great monasteries of England to succumb to the corporate raiding of Henry VIII in 1540. The church still stands, but all the rest of it is just ruined old walls and gravestones.
Landed at 5am at Heathrow. Just over two hours later I was here, looking for a cup of tea, which was surprisingly difficult to find in Leicester Square at this early time in the day. But one could still enter the casino, which two guys in the middle distance are seriously considering. And so ends the monstrously long month that has been January 2025: did it really only have 31 days this year? I don’t believe it.
Rarely has it been more welcome to be spending the night at an airport hotel and then undergoing an airport transfer, back in Cape Town. Which, as airports go, is quite manageably sized and decent: better than most. I suppose most of this stuff may genuinely be ‘African’, but it’s still an imagery for travellers rather than anything culturally real.
Four days late, I finally leave St Helena. There were genuine concerns in the morning that the flight would be cancelled yet again — apparently at about 9.30am visibility on the runway was practically zero — but, hallelujah, the clouds cleared and the incoming plane duly landed, about half an hour late (and of course carrying passengers who had all been waiting since Saturday themselves). An hour after this picture was taken, we boarded, took off and I type this in a hotel at Cape Town airport, waiting for my flight back to Heathrow this evening.
This is the blog’s 76th photo to be taken on St Helena: the first one being 9th November 2021 at the same place, the airport, the day before I began my 10-day period of quarantine (spent in a rather nice house not far from where I have been staying this time, Alarm Forest). Will this be the last shot from here, though? At the moment I have no definite plans to return — and, perhaps more significantly, no more research grant money to do so. Data collection for the project is done and I really should now concentrate on writing it all up. But, you know, never say never.
I have absolutely no idea, for certain, whether this will be my last full day on St Helena or not. I have given up speculating, for if I don’t leave tomorrow as currently scheduled, I might succumb to despair. I tried to avoid this emotion today by going on a walk up to High Knoll Fort — appearing for the third time on this visit. This view is taken from inside, looking down through the battlements to the island’s secondary school on Francis Plain. What the code means, I have absolutely no idea either. One Exits Now? That would be good.
Yep, still here. And for another 48 hours, at least. This shot pleases me, though. The third one in a row to depict a creature in some kind of repose, but that is how I feel right now.
There are worse places to be stuck, that is true. And I’ve not been turfed out of my accommodation, I’m not running out of money, and so on. But this has now become my life’s longest-ever flight delay, or indeed travel delay of any kind, and I may not even be halfway through it yet. I am trying to develop a stoic outlook on life — as this guy appears to have done.
Oh yes, Lucky, I am still here. It seems I will be here for at least a little while longer yet. You don’t have to look at me with such disdain, though. I know you don’t like me, and I have tried.
The island is generally good-looking, but perhaps I am getting used to the scenes in my usual haunts of Jamestown and Alarm Forest. Over on the other side of the central ridge, though, the less-frequented Sandy Bay area can still take the breath away. Lot and, on the further ridge, his Wife preside over a scene as fair as any you could name.
This was going to be my last evening on St Helena but I post this on Saturday morning already knowing the flight’s been postponed for at least 24 hours. “Bad weather” supposedly but I can’t say it seems that bad to me. So there’ll be one more picture from here, at least.
Being 42 