Touchdown

It had snowed heavily during the late-afternoon and Newcastle Airport had not long reopened when my BA flight from Heathrow touched down. We sat for an age waiting for ice to be scraped off the steps and the entrance to the terminal building. I suddenly felt every minute of the twenty-five hours I'd been travelling since waking up in Tokyo.

There was no sign of the gritters on the roads so we drove home slowly through the slush and ice. I caught the end of Match of the Day, had a beer while listening to Benitez blame the referee for his own tactical failings, and flicked quickly through the morning papers. Reality TV shows, a few inches of snow bringing the country to a halt, a knighthood for an actor.

Nothing much changes.