The man in the blue outfit asking me with a straight face if I am carrying more than $10,000 worth of foreign currency is, as each time, the final sign that I've crossed back onto home territory. (This, in close proximity to the question regarding my potential proximity with edible animal products and farm mud, just further proves the deep and persistent linkage between currency and meat. Cf. Sohn-Rethel on coins that smell like the hands of the master that pass the dog the meat for which it will bite any and all while it paces the butcher shop and resolutely doesn't get the dull shiny circles from which that sweat won''t be scrubbed clean.)
Thanks, all in UK for everything. Can't wait to come on back.