Amongst his peers

 Amongst his peers.

Do we ever have enough, are we ever satisfied.
Laying in bed, the quilt tucked under my chin I look around my bed room and think to myself yes this is enough. The bed is comfy, there are books galore, within arms reach, there's a tv and a bedside radio, and my iPad gives me connection to anywhere and everything.
At about 10 every evening the flight to somewhere in Europe pulls up its landing gear and climbs into the clouds setting its heading for the coast. If the pilot were to look to his right he would see my bedroom light on.  He in his world, me in mine. His altimeter registering every meter as he gains height, first the lights of Harlow and then in the distance, the glow of London.
Below him unseen in the black countryside the river slithers like a snake through the hedgerows and over contours of the land. Nearby the nocturnal animals are looking for a meal. The owl, ever alert hears a rustle in the undergrowth and decides to have a look. The fox trots silently by, eyes accustomed to the gloom ears pricked looking for a passerby late on his or her way home near but not near enough from the security of their den.
High above off goes the seat belt light and the passengers ease themselves into their seat as the hostess passes down the row to ask if you want a drink. It's a short flight and they will be there by midnight. Already the anxiety is beginning to creep in, there's the car hire to negotiate and the drive to the pension, and will the key be where its supposed to be.
In the morning light the beauty of rural Provence will make it all worth while, the drive to the bakery and the smell of fresh bread, the delicious pastries and the quaintness of hearing French all around and wondering what the word for  brussels sprouts is.
Out of their comfort zone, driving on the wrong side of the road, ordering meals and not knowing what you will get, is all part of the fun of being abroad but is it worth the ignominy of the security when boarding, the near cattle like performance in a crowded queue as you loosen your belt and empty your pockets, all semblance of dignity gone. Navigating the exits in the departure hall for your plane you are allowed enough time to wander the glitzy shops in duty free pondering if you really want a 20 year old when the 10 was your usual tipple, and that exotic perfume which sells for a ridicules amount in the high street but doesn't on reflection seem so massively reduced here.
Is it worth the swap from the comfort of my bed and who knows, I may dream of a holiday which is not only free but somehow I am 20 again with all the opportunity a 20 year old has amongs't his peers.