Sat writing this at 00:39 local time in Toronto, having fashioned a make-shift bed from the available benches in the airport awaiting the transfer.
There is something eerily comforting about the quiet echo of a near-empty airport; drifting in and out of consciousness clinging on to one’s prized possessions.
Having had a kind offer to stay with a vet friend just outside Toronto, the flight and baggage collection took so long it all ended up a little late to descend on a friend, and the hotels were full, so a bench and Peaky Blinders is it! But good stories are never made from wise, well-timed and well-executed plans, are they. They’re made from crushing your back in half with your feet in the air in essentially a big draughty warehouse.
Needless to say, very much already missing the daft little Vizsla back home, as well as the rest of the menagerie!