I would probably be exaggerating to say that even the flight path felt familiar. So I shan't. Only the bad airline food and service are (especially after J and I have experienced the automatic upgrade the last time we flew). But when I stepped out of the plane, the patterned carpet, the characterless corridors and the nightmare queues at immigration - ah, Heathrow, the UK. Only this time, the number of migrants/residents from South Asia rivalled that of the tourists.
We are staying at a 1-month old little hotel by Earl's Court, in a neighbourhood where a Rolls is parked by the curb, but turn a corner and it's student housing.
And true to my recurring dream, the first stop after my colleagues and I dropped our bags was to Sainsbury's.
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