I think I want another volcano to erupt in Iceland.
After all, all along that the supposed volcanic ash was hovering above us, we had the most beautiful blue summer skies and long, warm days. There was barbeque smell in the air, streets had come alive with outdoor cafes, and even the British managed to look happy.
Of course, some people had their travel plans foiled. But as Sid and my passports were toasting in some drawer at Britain's Home Office during that time, we really couldn't have cared less.
And then, the volcano subsided, and we are back in the thick of winter again. Cloudy skies, cloudy faces, and the Home Office has still not relinquished control over our passports.
Give me back my volcano.