I'm not sure that Seneca spent a lot of time driving along the M25 on a Friday afternoon. (Actually, the haunted expression on his face might suggest otherwise.)
The word 'driving' is something of a euphemism which might be replaced by crawling, juddering or hardly moving at all.
I had a great set of meetings yesterday at the Commonwealth War Graves Commission. For someone who spends much of her time on her own at home in front of a computer, to travel away from home, to meet new people, to talk instead of e-mailing truly DOES impart new vigour to the mind.
Except for the journey home along the M25!
'No-one realises how beautiful it is to travel until he comes home and rests his head on his old familiar pillow,' said Lin Yutang.
To me, the best bit of going out is coming home. Not coming home, no, not the journey. The arriving.
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