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Tales from Terminal Four

Waiting.


I'm usually not very good at waiting. The countdown to big races is always a testing time.

This week has involved a lot of waiting...

Waiting for the end of each day at work... will Friday ever arrive?

Waiting for sleep to come... a sore throat, cough and fuzzy head have made sleep a precocious commodity this week... when will it be Friday morning?

Waiting for the train to arrive... only a couple of minutes late in the end... but when will we get to London?

Waiting to collect the tickets... but the queue moves quickly... but when will the show start?

And then suddenly it's showtime, the familiar opening refrain... we bought the tickets for the special performances of Les Miserables' anniversary concert months ago and now the waiting is over.



And it was worth the wait. I loved every second and realised I know the words to the whole show... fortunately for those sitting near me, my sore throat now means a lost voice, so I couldn't sing along!

I loved it and I will cherish the memories.

But it wasn't long before anticipation of our next adventure took hold.

Time was filled with tube trains, a parkrun (almost inevitably), a long lunch.


But now I'm waiting again.

Waiting to board a plane, about 30 hours from our final destination in New Zealand. I'm not going to know what day it is for a while, but I have books to read, podcasts to listen to, movies to watch and a new notebook to fill...


Waiting may not be my strength, but I don't mind this wait because New Zealand awaits.

Let the adventure begin.

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