The Journey Home
Wednesday passed quickly with an excellent lunch with Chris (of youngmen Chris and Paulo fame) at a Bolivian restaurant on the Seattle waterfront and some final shopping downtown.
The evening was spent at the Opera House attending the Dress Rehearsal of a new production of Giordano's Andrea Chenier. It was good to hear both Ben Heppner and Diana Soviero in the the two main roles. The orchestra played well, costumes and settings were fine. But the lighting and the general direction were way off-beam. As Bradey had said, God is it only two weeks ago, this is definitely a B-Opera. And it needs a bit more conviction overall to bring it off. So, curate's egg - good in parts. But well worth the seeing if not flying half way across the globe for.
Thursday morning, I was a disaster zone. Just consumed by pain and tears as I packed. As I sat in the deck and smoked, my stomach just heaved and shoulders shook as I was racked by sobs. And, above all, what I wanted at that moment was for Keith to be there to comfort me.
I know that this is daft because he's in a relationship at present. But throughout this trip, his is the presence I have felt most strongly and not (I say with some shame) David's. I've wanted to hold Keith, talk with him, experience places with him. It's he who has been my phantasy lover on many of the times that I've been spanking the monkey.
And I want to tell him all this when I'm back in the UK and somehow for the scriptwriter to come good and arrange some mechanism that will get us back together again.
Lunch was meant to be a special treat. Rod and Dale and I set off for the revolving restaurant at the top of the Space Needle - one of Seattle's most prominent landmarks, 500 feet tall and a remembrance of the World's Fair here back in the 60s. Well, I wimped out. The combination of the emotional morning, the height and the moving floor did for me and my nerve went completely. We had to leave before ordering.
So, we went to a special Italian restaurant that Rod and Dale know instead and had, for me, a much more pleasant meal. And then it was time for the airport and more tears.
I didn't luck out on the journey home and I'm back with the World Travellers rather than riding club. I'm not too worried about the lack of individual video screen or the fact that the food is less classy and the wine poorer. It's the lack of space to stretch out and sleep that's the real downer. Nine hours of discomfort relieved by fitful light sleep before we touch down at Heathrow.
So, it's off the plane, pick up the bags, through customs and into the arrivals hall and no Keith. Jesus. Oh, this reminds me so much of all the times that Richard promised me support and let me down. Then, just when I've got to the stage of checking on taxi fares (50 pounds) to home, Keith turns up late and flapping. And there's hugs and tears and we journey on the Tube like three and a half weeks has never existed. Except that much has happened positively for him and Phillipe which is wonderful but which totally knocks on the head any ideas I might have had.
And I get home eventually. And Keith zaps off to work. And he's re-arranged the kitchen totally. And I can't find anything. And the garden's a mess. And there's moldy cheese in the fridge. And within half an hour there's a phone call from James II. And the Jameses have split up. Back to earth with a bang. Reality will do that to you every time.