It wasn’t a promising start. The sky was crude oil black, the wind was choppy and stiffening and home was enough of a distance away to be “a journey”.
The city roads at the beginning were strewn with late night traffic. Erratically driven cabs compete with aggressive hatchbacks sprinting from one night club to the next. I tried not to join in the fray, just followed the signs and concentrated on getting onto real roads. Fortunately nobody else seemed to be straying away from town. Plenty coming in, very little going out. Loads of speed cameras dotted around, though, so best I have my wits about me.
The suburbs have sticky fingers which seem reluctant to relinquish their grip on me. An endless cycle of traffic lights and roundabouts, contradictory roadsigns and detours threaten my progress. They fail, beaten by my determination.
And the prospect of home.