Home seems sweeter than ever just before I leave on a trip. Safe, protected, familiar. Tomorrow I fly via Paris to Marseille to attend a conference in Aix-en-Provence. A destination that I have coveted since reading Peter Mayle.
Yet the butterflies always flutter in my innards as I pull on my travelling shoes. Doggos are off to the kennels; the budgies will chatter near Jethro's pram; my PC is about to be shut down; the Out of Office message on the email is set to operate from 6 am tomorrow and the last items tucked into my minuscule hand luggage.
I shall be back on 12 July to World Cup fever that is taking over South Africa. Back to home, sweet home.
