Istanbul (Not Constantinople)
The day I leave there are birds in the street. After the first one, my mum and I joke about a suicidal magpie. Then it is a crowd. Then several pigeons. It soon becomes clear that at dawn, the road belongs to the birds. They cluster around pedestrian crossings, sweeping for anything dropped during the course of a long Saturday night. They are slow to move. I don't want us to run over a pigeon. It seems like a bad omen. Watching them squabble over who gets to eat kebab vomit on a Sunday morning I can't help but wonder if I will miss England. The flight is more anxious than usual after I managed to catch a cold and then block one of my ears in the run-up. I've not had an ear problem for years, but I had a recklessly hot bath and my earwax became a problem. I mentioned this problem online and several people arrived with what I would say was a degree of relief to say that the worst pain they ever experienced was trying to fly with a sinus infection. I don't think it'...
