That really was the week, that was. Started off on Sunday with the terrifying, tremendous and surreal flight from Blackpool to Douglas. At one point, across the phospherescent Irish sea, the grey scudding frozen clouds and the glimpse of towering black anvil clouds, I had a total zen like moment; the last time such a thing occured was in the Royal Opera House during Gotterdamerung when suddenly the stage was empty, and instead, we the opera goers were transported into some other realm of Wagnerian dimensions. That’s how that flight was.

Isle of Man was great. Fantastic Georgian and Victorian buildings; everywhere the sea; the gales, the weather; watching the ferry plough it’s way through giant waves. Watching the skies to see if it was really possible for 6000 kilogrammes of metal and people to catapult their way through gravity defying storms.

And then from Douglas, on Thursday morning, to Belfast.

Belfast has to be one of the world’s most extraordinary and powerful cities. I was last there in 1981 and used to say frequently, to anyone who would listen; everyone in the UK should go to Belfast at least once. This is a big city with big people and a very big history which can’t be ignored; but to be explored and discussed. And that  requires tact and diplomacy. Belfast demands humility of those who are not denizens; and it needs to be listened to, rather than preached at. I loved every minute of being there.

The flight to Belfast was the same Dornier plane that had flown me from Blackpool to Douglas. This time the wind was only force 5 or  6- positively smooth. The plane (seemed to struggle) off the ground and then went through the clouds and then we saw the sea; now blue and benign, gentle white crests adding picture postcard vistas from 4000 feet. And then there to the west was Ireland itself. Thoughts layered upon layer as we slowly began the descent; of Protestantism and Catholicism and Unionism and Republicanism; and socialism and communism; and the United Irishmen and Wolfe Tone and an immensely rich cultural and spiritual heritage. From the air all we could see was the neat pattern of towns and villages and roads and neat green fields. From where had sprung this evil sectarian hatred? The country and the people deserve better than such shoddy politics.

I wish I’d had time to go to the Crown in Belfast. I gazed longingly at the end of a long, but productive and enjoyable day. But off the airport it was; only to arrive and be told that the flight was three hours late. So much for Fly Maybe’s internet service. Sat in the airport drinking guiness and finding my own entertainment. Thanks to the guy who shared a drink and made me laugh. No idea who that was but I hope he got to Manchester on time.

And them the flight to Edinburgh eventually happened; a night flight with the ribbons of yellow neon lights; the dark watery mass of the Forth, and then eventually, the Scottish capital.

This morning I caught the train from Waverley Station to Dundee…and what a beautiful journey that was at 8.30am; slowly crossing the Forth Road Bridge; that sense of leaving the lowlands and travelling towards the highlands; the magnificence of the Tay; Dundee itself with it’s high buildings and narrow steps and ancient cemetries and ….just a sense of self.

I came home on the long express from Aberdeen to London; packed, party-ish with gangs of builders, oil workers, gangs of girls away for the weekend; students on leave; there was talk of soldiers and Iraq, political debates about this and that; laugher and tables with bottles of champagne; the big Asian lad in animated conversation with the girl next to him; people making friends. Suits with laptops slowly discarding ties and pressing delete keys…

In that long train there was all of the British Isles for the weekend. I wish I’d been drinking champagne with the girls and joshing with the builders and arguing global politics with all and sundry; and most times I would; but today too tired and still with a long journey home.