Time zoning

With the time change, I could be alive for six hours in New York but dead three hours in Paris. I could get things done, and I could also be dead.

The alarm goes off at 5. I stumble awake, shower, rouse Megan. Claire is blissfully undisturbed.

Megan is at the Tollcross International Swimming Pool by 6:30, which gets me GLA before 7:30. I have a couple of hours to eat porridge, charge laptop, and generally fail to be constructive.

A layover in Luton makes a perfect Sunday interlude. We finally track Angus down to a Penicuik-bound camper-van. I eat an overpriced salad that comes without two of the significant ingredients (olives & avocado) and then overcharged me for the wrong drink.

10 hours and two flight after leaving home, but still in the same same timezone as the UK, I arrive at Porto airport. Paul’s waiting there at Costa.

We Uber to our Airbnb - warriors in the sharing economy. And then I hustle into town for the XP committee meeting and dinner with the Agile Alliance board. Somehow I survive till 10:30 before I bail out and head back to the flat.