Landing in London.

I am in a hotel room in Heathrow, London. It is very silent because of the dense double windows. It is almost five o'clock in the morning and as dark as night outside (excepting all the artificial light from the street lamp in the car park below). Sleep, now, is not forthcoming.

We arrived here at about seven, ejected from the bland enclosed world that was an aircraft into the tumultuous maze that was the airport. I can still feel the ground swaying with the motion of the plane, as if my body has been programmed to a new rhythm.

It was in the black of early morning that we left Perth yesterday. I woke up at three and got all of my things together. We called a taxi and loaded all of our luggage, three guitars and two bags, into the back of it, and then it was off to the little international airport to board the plane for Dubai.

The sun has come up now, the sky lightly veiled in blue clouds. From the window I can see the street outside. It is quiet. A car glides by every twenty seconds or so. There are men in fluro yellow vests shuffling down the footpath, and others wrapped in smart coats presumably making their way to work. A red bus just sighed as it went by. It looks damp and cool out there. The skyline is a mess of tree branches and the tops of buildings.