Life On Mars Part 3

Its a God awful small affair,
To the girl with the mousey hair.

Back where I started four weeks ago I'm sitting in my flat listening to randoms on this internet machine surrounded by piles of open books.. I suppose you could say I've gone and put myself in a position that really isn't helping any productivity.

But rather than tear my hair out due to the lack of activity on the drawing board let me tell you how I got here.

My journey back from a four week trip in Brunei started as our flight zoomed into gray wet clouds causing K and I to huddle into a ball as the plane rattled into higher altitudes. Thoughts of being eco-warriorwoman come to view as I vow silently that the only mode of transport for me will either be four-legged and fast, or choo-chooing and slow. Suddenly K's suggestions to return to the UK via the trans-siberian express did not seem so ridiculous. However as we landed in Heathrow three movies and an extended nap later in just about 16 hours, all thoughts of carbon footprints were swiftly turned to the rather (un)welcoming British weather. Reminding me once again that 16 hours ago-ish, I was lying by the pool catching some last minute sun burn.

There is that moment when you open the door to your house after a long time being away when you are either confronted by: 1. aahhh.. (slinky music, soft bed and a good homemade meal) or 2. aahhh!! (dozens of small bugs swarming around your ankles, bed stripped due to pre-holiday cleaning hoo-haa and brekkie at local greasy spoon caf). Suffice to say the latter greeted us as we ran for refuge in our day old clothes. Thankfully Sha was kind enough to lend us a hand and let us stay round hers. By the time we had the keys to her place our internal clocks were telling us it sould be 6am and I had broken out in hives in reaction to the bites and stress. Meanwhile, our house was being fumigated and if you listened really carefully, you could just about hear the bastards wheezing to death, frantically jumping at the windows.

Not the welcome home anyone would hope for, but at least we're home. Even if I'm afraid to touch the floor since the pest guys said not to mop or vacuum for 10 days to make sure the insecticide gets everything. Even if the place looks like we had a party and everyone came in their work boots, spilt drink everywhere then decided to pour salt everywhere. I know, we throw some random parties. But hey, its home. At least one of them anyway.

Sailors fighting in the dance hall
Oh man, look at those cave men go

Indeed. xxw