15th September. Flight from My Life

This time tomorrow we should be somewhere else. In a tiny little room under the flight path to Gatwick.
I find these interludes away from home completely strip me of my identity. Who am i ? certainly not Chimney Repair Man, To people like Mrs H, that's who i am. I must say that particular identity fits like an old pair of slippers, but feeling comfortable is a royal road to stagnation, so they say.

Its hard to imagine that on my deathbed I would think; i wish i'd lined a lot more chimneys when i had the chance. Chances are, what one would think in reality, would be on the lines of "I could have done something".

I wonder what that something means? Like discovering Penicillin or winning the Lottery? Discovering Penicillin is probably nearer the mark, and the Lottery probably wouldn't change anything from the last breath point of view..

I wish i'd been a more irritating bore doesn't ring true either...