I'm home. By home I mean my parents' house, which I am sure I will continue to think of as home until I have a place of my own. The drive took 10 hours, and I also brought home a souvenier I'd rather not have: a cold. So as I'm sure you can imagine, I'm exhausted. I also appear to have left my voice behind. Perhaps it is hovering over Morecambe bay, reluctant to leave behind the treacherous, yet inspiring waters.
It was an amazing holiday, but there was a tragic occurrence scarily close to where we were staying. Thankfully none of our party were involved, but when I consider how the tragedy coincided with our visit to that part of the country I can't help but think how easily we could have been affected, even if we had just been witnesses. For those of you who didn't hear the news, a man from Cumbria ran rampage with a shotgun, murdering 12 and injuring many others before ending his own life just as the police arrived on the scene. He drove from one part of the Lake District to the next, targeting one or two people in each area. We were on the road that day too, oblivious to what was going on, and managed to avoid the crime scenes. That evening, a friend of mine texted to check I was okay. That was the first I heard of it. It was a very sad and shocking thing to happen, and my heart goes out to all the friends and relatives of those dead.
I will save the holiday snaps and a more uplifting commentary of the week for tomorrow. I don't really have the energy tonight, and besides, Spud's using my laptop (I'm on the home PC). I think the best place for me is bed, with a hot lemon and honey for my throat and a box of tissues.