Nine days left, time begins to telescope. I'm experiencing real-time retrospectively, chronology slides so events seem a lifetime away, yet are so vivid you could almost grasp them in your fingers. I'm tired. Too tired. It's bizarre sharing every aspect of your life with a set of people who you'll never see again. For a month you're like a family, then you're no more than an email address on a scrap of paper. So it goes.
Days have become indistinguishable: I taught politics and literature, waved goodbye to one set of Italians and said hello to another, took Spanish kids to Fountains Abbey, Romans to Durham and stood by while young kids robbed me blind at roulette. I've been back to Newcastle, eating tapas in the afternoon and taking applause from tramps while telling Spanish kids that they had arrived in the greatest city on Earth. I have burned all my energy. I will miss this place.
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