Richter

Like the brief doomed flare of exploding suns that registers dimly on blind men's eyes, the beginning of the horror passed almost unnoticed; in the shriek of what followed, in fact, was forgotten and perhaps not connected to the horror at all.

I pack and head to the Neues museum for opening time. The Japanese tea culture exhibition is interesting, but has more to do with culture than tea. The permanent collection has some wonderful stuff. I particularly like some of their Gerhardt Richter pictures.

The train to Frankfurt airport is busy, but everything goes to plan. There’s a shuttle to terminal 2 and then a delayed flight to London City. I sit in the Japan Airlines lounges and eat pretzels and wurst, resigned to the almost mandatory delay.

By the time it’s ready to board, the connecting flight has been cancelled. It looks likely that I’ll be spending another night in London. Instead, miraculously, I’ve been rebooked onto the next flight.

I’m sitting next to Kevin, a mental health nurse originally from Cove (near Gairloch). He has lots of travel tales - of which I hear only a fraction - and before I know it we’re landing.

I collect the car and head over to Owen’s. He has a selection of home brew that he wants me to try. I don’t decline. I’ll sleep on the sofa.