Crieff

Death is nothing at all. It does not count. I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened. Everything remains exactly as it was. I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way which you always used. Put no difference into your tone. Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Click: I send my reservation to Ryanair: I will fly to on Scotland Wednesday 31 January. Seems like holiday, 12 days in that beautiful, strange, magic land, as you know: whisky, Braveheart, kilt, the Lock Ness monster and put together everything you have heard about it. But, after some travel there, dad and Jean and the other parents, for me is nothing at all, is just to fly to home. Another kind of home. Far away from mine. I don't know why, but all seem to be so familiar, starting from the wheather.