We go home and take Cyril

Cyril only had a moment of ~Cyrildom, and that was brief, on our journey home. We stayed in an hotel in Puerto Rico, just opposite the CockFighting Club, on the fifth floor with very noisy air conditioning which fell apart in the middle of the night. We had two princess beds in a double room, I don't know who they thought that we would be bringing in, maybe a princess or two or maybe they expected a whale or two. The ceiling tiles were falling off! oh where was the Maria Callas suite of the Botel! We didn't have to be there long, and it didn't live up to its name which was the Coral by the Sea, no sea there, no coral either. This was more like the Hotel Midland in Mumbai. But cheap though and as we were asleep that was all that matters, who needs lapping waves and room service when you are asleep anyway and your dreams might take you to the place you were trying to avoid. We took a taxi back to the airport, and spent hours there, it was clean and we both had books. We flew to JFK, New York and into another shopping airport space, two hours there and we boarded our flight back to the UK. Mary met us, yippee, took us back to Lionel Mansions, we yawned our way down the A1 to daffoldils at Great Staughton. Liz has cooked the first supper in two months and it was fine. Letter opened, fire lit, children contacted, washing done, daffoldils picked. All that remains is to get into a good old English bed.