Clocking back on to a multicultural life

It’s an old metaphor.  In many places now, we’ve learnt to turn up on time – without external controls or systems that tie us down to a timetable.  But working from home, and being one’s own boss, does still require a certain rigour.

We drove back from Spain over the weekend.  The traffic was painful around Bordeaux; lovely towards the north of France; and awful the other side of the Channel.  We crossed from Dieppe to Newhaven, but the saving over the Portsmouth-Le Havre crossing was negligible compared to the additional driving-pain incurred on either side.

I find flying very challenging which is why we don’t do it.

I love going by train – but the family hates it.

So we compromise – as this world should surely show us we must – by going in a mode of transport no one actually despises too much.

Back to work.  Back to school.  Back to raising a family.  Back to searching out ways and means of communicating and editing reality as constructively as we can.

“Welcome back home!” they’ll say.

But I live between three.

An arrival and gain which are always simultaneously a loss.  That is the nature of multicultural life.

And “[s]o we beat on, boats against the current …” – ceaselessly as the great man loves to say; until – that is – we stop.


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