It’s a Sunday morning and as I wake up, I don’t want to leave the bed.
It’s going to be a difficult day. I’ll be flying back to London after visiting my parents for a week.
There are two things, wait, three things that happen without a miss in any of these flying-back days.
I have a heated discussion with my parents about how much organic produce from their farm I can fit in my luggage.
I end up leaving some of my clothes there trying to make space.
My dad starts crying the second I step foot at the airport.
I’m not looking forward to any of them. But I need to get up. It’s my last day home, I want to make the most of it.
I go out into the garden and notice that my uncle is there having a coffee with my dad. I join them.
They are speaking about figs. I jump in the conversation and ask: “Are they done yet for this year?”
“Ah no, they need some more weeks.” — says my dad.
I make a sad face and reply: “Too bad, they are my favorite fruit.”
“Mine too!” — says my uncle.
“Do you remember when we were k…
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