You know what? It's good to be home. Even though it's cold and wet and there aren't smiling, friendly people bringing me cocktails as the sea lapped against the sand. Even though we had to wait about 45 minutes for our bags to arrive o the carousel (have you noticed how it's always your bags that come out last? Always. For everyone reading this. Which is incredible when you think about it, suggesting that all the people whose bags come out first are actually cyborgs created solely so that the actual real humans' bags can always be the last ones). Even though I'd been kept up most of the night by the fat man snoring on the minute every minute in the seat behind me on the flight, and who grabbed the back of my chair to lever himself out of his seat every time he got up. Have you ever noticed how the fattest guy on the plane always sits behind you and next to you on every single flight? He is in two places at once like Dr Manhattan. And this observation is also true for him, so that he also has the fattest man on the plane behind him and next to him as well and so on to infinity (Once again I think McIntyre and Kay's dominance of the observational comedy scene may not be under any direct challenge).
Anyway the point is that as we drove into a grey Shepherd's Bush with the streets lined with miserable faced, unfriendly people on the way to work, I actually felt quite content.
There is no place like home.
After a bit of a nap we were starving and there was no food in the house so we went to Nandos for a slap-up feast, which was exactly the right thing to do.
Later Andrew Collings came round to record this week's podcast (and how anal of us that we managed to get one in at the last minute for this week) and I gave him a tiny overpriced wooden dodo that I had bought at the airport. That is not a euphemism, but it should be.
Give the strange day I had had the podcast turned out OK. It'll be up
here at some point on Saturday.
Then a night in, catching up on a documentary about the Turin shroud which I had Sky plussed, which opens up the possibility that the carbon dating done on the fake relic might have been contaminated by a medieval repair job, although it could have been repaired in the sixteenth century and not be 2000 years old. In fact I'd put quite a big bet on that. Still, it's an interesting mystery as to how the thing was made, if not by a radioactive Jesus. And if it is a fake (it obviously is) then did the fakers actually crucify someone in order to create the image?
There are some things science will never be able to tell us.
This is probably not one of them though.
I then watched "Inglorious Basterds" which I rather enjoyed, even though lots of people had told me it was rubbish. It's ridiculous, but I don't think it's rubbish. I enjoyed it. But perhaps my verdict was tempered a bit by having watched four of the worst films ever on the plane home. Post Grad was the worst one of those. Do not watch it. Unless you're on a plane.
