With an just over an hour’s wait on Lusaka runway before the final hop over to Harare, looking out over a tarmac that ends abruptly in Savannah, my mind dwells not on the adventures that lay out there ahead of me but the past week in London.

When I was sitting in Stockholm Arlanda finishing the last of an expensively cheap bottle of whisky, I looked down at key ring.  It is the first time I can recall not owning a single key and it gave me a sense of homeless freedom.

Flying back into London, following the line of the Thames as if it were a vein and our plane was a blood cell pulsing along mindlessly behind those before it, easily spotting all the familiar sights. I couldn’t help but get annoyed at how excited fellow passengers were at sighting this or that stadium, some confusing Twickenham for Wembly.  I looked upon Richmond bridge almost as if I was going to mindlessly make my way back along the Thames to the place I spent so much of my time in London.  Stepping out of the arrivals hall to have a familiar face waiting for me, a rare occurrence in my travel over the years, I realised that I was not home but I had plenty of homes.

My first day set a precedent by sharing a bottle of goldwasser at 10am and ended in the happy haze of margaritas and green gauccamoli with a grasshopper thrown in for good measure.  Through the week London continued to open her delights, days were lazy and hazy spent absorbing much needed sun while nights were consumed the happy chemicals produced long days in one of the worlds greatest cities. Maybe that is just the romance of not having demands on my time talking, I certainly realised how unsustainable it was by the end of the week.  It was a dizzying mix of socializing with friends, colleagues, new acquaintances and lovers past and present.  Though all through the week there was the underlying knowing that no matter where we all end up, the connections we have made in London means there will always be someone with a smile waiting at a terminal for us when you need it.