Lump in the throat

A theme I keep coming back to is our perception of the passage of time. And you may want to skip this because it’s all a bit filosofikal.

I dropped in to see my old colleagues. They’ve moved to a swanky newsroom, changed roles and entered a brave new world. It was very strange seeing them out of my familiar context. And then I went up to the old newsroom where I spent 10 years of my life, at all times of the day and night, summer and winter, witnessing historic moments as they unfolded, and through all the moods of triumph and despair. It was the same room but the atmosphere had gone.

It’s nearly two years since I left but feels like the blink of an eye. It’s also clear there has been huge changes in that time.

Then co-incidentally, an old buddy from the early days of internet journalism got in touch this evening and the years rolled away. We got talking about the next generation – the people I see going in right at the beginning of their careers, completely the other end to me.

I felt like I lost the anchor today.

Ever had days like that? Would love to hear your take on it.

And the winner is…

… pause for dramatic effect…

Matt for the first spring garden flower:

A mention should go to Mike for a valiant effort with this spring bulb contribution:

And just room for this piece of genius by NB:

We’re just pants

Well I’m sorry but we are. I’ve just come back from a smashin’ country where everyone could (of course) speak fluent English, where some were observed to switch effortlessly into German or Russian; a clean, cultured, efficient country with open spaces and relaxed, friendly people. Tempted yet?

They too had quite a lot of snow on the roads and at Ljubljana airport, but, and here’s a thing, they cleared it away with no apparent impedence or buggaration. Our flight which was due at Stansted went to Gatwick instead, and a plane due at Gatwick was diverted to Stansted and landed there 20 minutes after we should have touched down. The rest you know.

I reckon the champion coach driver who drove through hell to get us home got it about right: There was no-one willing to ring up Mr Snowploughbloke on a Sunday night and ask him if he’d mind awfully turning out. How Dad’s Army. At this rate we’ll have to build another runway at Heathrow to cater for the people who would rather live in Slovenia. I’d be happy to join that queue but they’re far too smart to accept riff-raff and old curmudgeons from the UK.

Yeah, shame about John Martyn. His music really does take me back to another world. At the weekend I saw some of his contemporaries’ vinyl displayed on the wall – of a museum! I hadn’t appreciated that the 70s and 80s were that old already.

I’ll post up a few snaps, er, when flickr’s working again. Must be the wrong kind of snow pictures.

Hvala, nasvidenje.