Thunder, thunder, lightning ahead
A threshold was crossed today, somewhere deep underground, in a foreign city in a foreign land.
In a Tube hole, nowhere near Romford, still unmistakable London.
The Piccadilly Line, Somewhere under London, 10th January, 2014
Sitting all alone in a carriage on a Tube I suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of relief. I felt my stomach unclench and my shoulders soften as what in anyone else could safely be called relaxation but in me is better described as a sense of less tenseness washed over me.
The cause of this momentary state of metro-Nirvana was the simple realisation of being elsewhere, specifically of not being at home in Dublin.
The last three weeks at home have, for various reasons, been particularly challenging. What should have been a time to savour the familiar comforts of home turned instead to an endurance race, an ultramarathon conducted with a backpack of anvils and shoes full of angry bees. Angry, angry bees.
Sitting on the Tube tonight I felt like I had dug my way out of my cell with an old spoon and a geological hammer. No doubt tomorrow I will feel guilt over the sense of relief that 350 miles of distance has brought me, but for now I am looking forward to a night's sleep.
Let's hope they don't notice the massive hole in the wall behind the Marian Finucane poster I left behind.