On the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I find myself flying. It doesn't worry me, and there's been so much in the media that I'm strangely numb to it all. I lost a friend - Kath James - on that day (see 2 May post) and am happy that her husband & her parents have today to remember her, formally.
I finished Ian Frazier's Travels in Siberia as we flew over Siberia. He made five separate journeys and, weirdly, the longest one, from St Petersburg to Vladivostock, ended on this very day ten years ago. Very good book. Aside from that, the usual catch-up on films: Senna (thrilling, tense, sad, great doc), the latest Woody Allen Midnight in Paris (the conceit is very Purple Rose of Cairo and there's something about Owen Wilson that irritates me, but these minor gripes aside, a good film) and Paul (well executed light-hearted British matey goofyness). And before I know it, touchdown.