A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window, and chequering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light, fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart.

Hector, who has worked at the Miramar since he arrived from Mexico ten years ago, would like to own his own home someday. It's my dream, he says. But he can't imagine how he'll ever get there when his family lives paycheck to paycheck and can't put anything away for savings.

Now exile is over, I'll fly to the north, The home of my childhood, the place of my birth; O the transports of gladness that over me reign, To blink upon canny Newcastle again!

What time does your flight get in?