It's My Birthday and I'll Get Drunk If I Want To!

Oh I have just woken up with an enormous hangover which reminds me that we had a party last night on the boat and I got as drunk as possible to celebrate the passing of another year! I am 27 now. Wow. You know what that means? I'm nearly 28, which is nearly 29 which is most definitely nearly 30! Argh! Be still my beating heart!

Anyway, I am off to ... er ... drink birthday tea and call my parents!

The Most Scary Thing....Ever.

There have been reports of brave young soldiers crying for their mothers at a critical moment of battle when they realise that immortality is not theirs and every moment may be their last. While I can't profess to understand the terror of war, I have experienced a moment last night which was one of the most frightening experiences of my life, and one in which I was definitely wishing for my mother. Unfortunately, I must admit that I was curled up in a blanket like a baby, sobbing involuntarily every time a monster wave smashed over the boat in the midst of a text book Tehuantepec storm wind measuring 10 on the beaufort scale. I would love to say that I was a courageous sailor steering the boat in the face of howling winds and thunderous ocean onslaughts, but I wasn't. I was pathetic. I was useless. I was totally, utterly, shitting myself.

It appears that we strayed too far from the protection of the coast, and by the time the legendary Tehuantepec hit us, it was too late to find a safe haven. The first I knew of it was when I awoke at midnight with sudden and unexpected sea sickness. Dazed and confused I moved out of my small cabin inside the hull to discover that the boat had taken on a life of its own with violent churning momentum throwing me bodily against the sides of the short corridor, I moved upstairs to the central communal area where the the impact of hull on sea was less intense, and began my long vigil on on a seat which (unfortunately) had panoramic views of the raging ocean around us. The same duplicitous Jekyll and Hyde ocean that had changed personality in a scarily short time and was currently attempting to swallow us whole like a human apperitif.



I became locked in a state of fear, and clutching my blanket to my chin, I whimpered each time another wave exploded into the side of us. The power of the ocean has never held more awe or respect for me.

Finally, blissfully, the dawn came, and I fell into a restless sleep filled with nightmares of yawning ocean mouths and creatures from the deep. The Tehuantepec was still upon us, but its fervour had lessened slightly, and the light banished away the fear of the unknown. Sure, we were still taking huge waves, but at least you can see them coming in the daylight and can find a suitable crash position.

I slept most of the day sleeping (ignorance is bliss) while we rid ourselves of the tail end of the storm, and now I am only too overjoyed to tell you that we are safely moored inside Huatulco Marina, Mexico.

My wine tastes sweet. Hell, my life tastes sweet. Here's to you Tehuantepec, and the hope that we won't be meeting again anytime soon. Cheers.

Tehuantepec Terror!

We're headed straight for the belly of the beast: the name that strikes fear into the heart of even the most experienced mariners, and the most dangerous part of our journey so far - The Tehuantepec Gulf.

This area off the coast of southern Mexico is capable of devastating wind speeds and unpredictable ocean currents. Most sailors prefer to avoid the area entirely by re-routing 500 miles off-course via Hawaii, however we have neither the time nor the resources to make such a massive diversion. Instead we have waited till this morning for a favourable weather forecast before setting sail with full engine power and all of our fingers crossed for the best.

If you're reading this now it means that we have made it through to the other side!

Sea Sickness of the Heart

After over 30 days at sea, and more than another 10 to go, I have come to a profound understanding of the term, "sea sick." I always believed that this was a concept reserved exclusively for those poor individuals who find themselves involuntarily vomiting overboard at the first hint of motion in the ocean (or that sensation I have come to fondly describe as 'the washing machine' effect).

However it has come to mean something a little different for me. I never thought I could be bored by the vision of celestial dawn light exploding over the horizon, or the delightful frolicking of curious dolphins playing around the hull. I never believed that the sight of the endless rolling ocean could fail to inspire me, or that the long days filled with nothing to do but sleep and read books could be anything other than sheer pleasure. I imagined tanning myself on the deck and re-creating that old advert for Piz Buin sun cream, where they have a perfectly tanned skinny model lying on the deck of a white catamaran in rapturous relaxation surrounded by gorgeous blue water. Unfortunately I am neither deeply tanned nor skinny. It's too hot to lie outside under the equator sun, and there's literally no where to go and nothing to do for exercise so I have become soft and flabby, not to mention weak as a kitten. I have never been around so much beautiful water for so long that I have been unable to swim or dive in, it's like dangling a carrot under my nose, really, it is.

Yes, I am sick of the sea.

I am so bored of staring into space, and, or, reading a book that I could chew my own fist for the want of something else to do. I miss my other hobbies, such as swimming and diving, fiddling around with computer editing programs, and playing fantasy video games. I miss the perks of civilisation such as being able to pop to the shops, catch a movie or go out for a meal with friends. I miss cosy nights at the pub and leaving late into cold fresh air that turns my breath to steam as I wrap my woolly scarf tighter around my neck. I miss my parents and our tradition of watching rubbish Saturday night TV programs with a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea (proper British teabags with real milk, not some foreign affair that tastes of stewed tree bark). I have forgotten what it feels like to sleep longer than four hours in a bed that doesn't move, and in a room with windows that you can leave wide open all night. Ah blessed fresh air that won't give me heat rash and induce me to pour with perspiration every moment of every day. Did I mention baths? I can't tell you how long it has been since I had a bath. Oh, a lovely bath with bubbles and candles and a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon would go down a treat right now, believe me.

So it appears I have reached a conclusion for now. It's almost time to go home... I think. Hmmm... at least for an extended visit...later this month ;)

Guatemala mountain trip

During a brief stop over in Guatemala we befriended a lovely local man who was only too happy to show us around his home town and nearby mountain city of Antigua. During the 2 hour journey the road wound up higher and higher, gaining altitude that caused a sharp drop in temperature which came as a surprise after the heady humid air at sea level. He pointed out a red flower that grew along the roadside which has sedative properties as a juvenile and is a deadly poison in full growth with no known antidote. We saw several family groups walking up the road carrying impossibly huge bundles of firewood on their backs which were apparently so heavy that each person was bent over double with the effort. Even the youngest child, who could have been no older than six years old was carrying a bundle of wood that was almost the same size as her. They were dressed in bright traditional local clothing which is essentially Mayan, and hand-woven with blinding speed and skill by women using an ancient method that involves a wooden frame, a body harness and a conveniently located tree trunk or post. As I am lacking any photos of this process I'll leave the visual images to your imagination.

Antigua appeared, finally, after a bend in the road and lay sprawling in the valley between the mountain ranges at approximately 1700 metres above sea level. It really is a gorgeous city, with a rich history and superb architecture. The central plaza has a beautiful garden at its heart, and is surrounded on four sides by cobbled streets, elegant balconies and a church.

Antigua appears to be a hotspot for back-packers and independent travelers. The streets are filled with young skinny 20-somethings wearing beads and bandanas, intermingled with smarter, older visitors who relax on park benches and wander around the stunning church interiors in revered silence. This city has "The Lonely Planet Guide To Central America" stamped all over it; the hotels are intimate and stylish, the bars are surprisingly cosmopolitan and cool, internet cafes are abundant, and the street vendors are as tenacious as they get. All of these developments have not had a detrimental effect on Antigua...yet. It is full of romantic charm and old-world beauty, and definitely on my list of places to return to one day if the backpackers don't get it first!

What Do You Do With The Drunken Sailors?

After a lengthy visit from customs and immigrations officials, all of seven of them, (I was surprised they didn't also bring their children and pet dog), we were finally clear to set foot on Costa Rican soil. We waved goodbye to all the staring Costa Rican pen-pushers and I pretended not to notice that one guy was surreptitiously taking photos of me on his phone, which was angled suspiciously low to be a mug shot. I raised a dubious eyebrow as if to say, "What? Never seen a girl in a bikini top before?" However I maintained a sunny facade. This was neither the time nor the place to upset foreign government officials over matters of female exploitation. Particularly the kind that are keeping your passport overnight.

We ventured out into the marina, and were impressed by the selection of disgustingly lavish fishing power boats, almost entirely American-owned. At sunset the owners could be found for the most part drinking cold beers in the nearby bars. They were an easy species to spot. Ruddy mahogany tans offset by greying or bleach blonde hair, some carefully groomed beer bellies, and a propensity to wink and postulate at passing females while congratulating each other loudly on the size of their engines, catch, stock investments, or all of the above.

We stumbled across a launch party for a fishing tournament, and crashed it as we heard that the alcohol was complimentary. We wasted no time at all getting stuck into the free bar, occasionally nodding sagely at other party goers who were discussing the odds for tomorrow's competition. I made particularly tiltillating conversation with one American man with a tan to rival David Hasselhoff's.

Him: "Are you following the tournament?"
Me: "Oh, yes, I love fish. I had a big one yesterday actually."
Him: "What was the size?"
(I gesture approximately 20 cm)
Me: "Delicious with chips and tartar sauce."



We continued to mercilously guzzle the free booze and found ourselves filled with the spirit of adventure, exploration, and well...er....vodka. This inevitably was destined to lead us down a dark and slippery path, in this case a bar called Beatle Bar which an American captain reliably informed me was the the local hotspot to find your friendly neighbourhood prostitute. It did not disappoint. Ladies of the night stood around the sides of the room in a very non-wall flower kind of way, against a backdrop of American road-house decor and framed rock trivia.
This place was hot and busy, and we decided to move on fairly rapidly to another bar more suited to our tastes and entertainment requirements. Monkey Bar, while it failed to deliver any genuine monkeys, it did offer some excellent music and a stylish cool interior. Feeling re-energised we set about our drinking mission with gusto, and were delighted to discover a table football game in the back. I ordered some tequila slammers to celebrate and we had a dramatic and highly skilled tournament with a local costa rican guy. My tactics came from years of training and mostly involved spinning all the handles round as fast as possible while jumping up and down on the spot and squealing like a pig. Naturally, with my talent we couldn't fail to lose and we celebrated our success with some vodka tonics.

The rest of the night is a little blurry, however I definitely remember enjoying some delicious BBQ chicken on a stick before our taxi back to the marina. In fact I may have eaten several. Later, singing, giggling, and the sweet oblivion of a drunken sleep.

Costa Rica

We have arrived in Costa Rica. Strange to think that already we are in another country. As we were delayed by a lack of wind we approached the marina in darkness and were not able to gain access to land yet, so we are anchored in the centre of the bay content for now to stare at the lights that sweep around us in an arc, tempting and inviting, but for now out of bounds. We considered the calm dark waters for while, deciding whether swimming to shore may be an option, however we reminded ourselves that we are in the Pacific, and these tranquil waters may be hiding a rather undesirable welcome committee; sharks, sea snakes and crocodiles are apparently not uncommon here.

Tomorrow we will go ashore and we will have an opportunity to explore. For now I keep company with my vivid imagination and a glass of Baileys on ice.

After travelling for so long alone I am finding it difficult sometimes to remember that my decisions are not entirely my own to make. So used am I to acting impulsively, selfishly even, that planning my schedule around the other crew or the captain is taking a little getting used to. I occasionally miss the freedom of being able to make entirely my own choices, however I am also enjoying the pleasure of meaningful friendship and companionship. In any case, only a short time remains of this journey and then I will be on my own again, good or bad, come what may. I only wish I knew what my next step is going to be.

(Either way I have made a promise to myself that I will be in Mexico by my birthday, February 1st, slamming tequilas wearing only a sombrero, a g-string, and a smile.) (For future photos please check the website...;)

The Music Of The Night

Music catapults me spiritually, emotionally, almost physically into the past. The power of music is thousand times more intense here at sea, when there is nothing in the stillness of the night save the infinite heavens above and utter darkness all around, embracing us within a pitch black void.

It is 4am and the deepest part of the night. I watch the ocean from the cockpit, scanning the impenetrable horizon for signs of movement or light. Earlier I found some old mini-discs and began to listen to songs that I have not played for several years, some as long as a decade. The flashbacks begin immediately and I am swept back into a sea of memories. There is nothing else to stimulate my mind at this moment, so I lose myself in my reminiscing. Faces appear before me, old loves long gone, (some best forgotten!) and old friends from around the world who are still dearly missed. You all know who you are. My love goes out to you tonight!

Backlog of Stories From Sea

Here´s a few journal entries I wrote at sea during our journey from Canouan Island to Panama!

26.12.06

I´ve been waiting to sail away into a sunset my whole life and finally, I´ve actually done just that.















¨Ciao Canouan¨ we shouted at the rapidly disappearing land mass, and turned west to stare at the infinite open ocean. I swallow it all up like a whale. I am hungry for adventure on the high seas. Captain Laurent has assured me that I will be a proper sailor in a couple of weeks, and I am determined to meet every challenge head on. Is there any other way to live?

Tonight I will experience my first watch shift. Each is 2 hours long, which gives you 4 hours sleep at a time if there are 3 members of crew. As we are six people at the moment we will only need to do 1 or 2 shifts a night, however tonight we are watching in pairs for training purposes. Laurent will be taking the watches with me.

==============================================================================

27.12.06

We took the last watch at 6am, but I was so tired, almost sick with fatigue, that I could barely appreciate my first sunrise at sea. Soon after the orange sun rose over the horizon a small squall possed on our port side and we were caught in an impromptu rain shower lasting only 3 or 4 minutes. I took the opportunity to take a ´natural´shower and stripped off quickly to make the most of the fresh water from the heavens! Our onboard fresh water is limited to necessities only (this does not include washing) so I am already a salty sailor girl!

After a much needed short nap I woke at 11am and was stunned by the blinding sun in a dazzling clear blue sky. Unfortunately not much wind so progress was going to be a lazy leisurely affair today. I joined the girls, Isabelle and Albane on the trampoline at the bow of the catamaran and settled down to some serious tanning action accompanied by a good book. Ah. Sailing is so hard!

I don´t think I have found my sea legs yet. I am stumbling around like a drunken penguin.

28.12.06

My watches last night were at 10-12pm and 6-8am. The sunrise this morning was beautiful. I was still a zombie but even my dopey eyes popped open wide in wonder at the golden explosion on the horizon.

I have no idea what I did with the rest of this day. Laurent sent me running around the boat to give him readings and information that he didn´t even want, because he thinks I need more ´sport´ to keep from becoming fat and slow like a sea slug. (Exercise is hard when you have no balance and no space to make any wrong moves!) No, actually, he was training me how to become familiar with the gagdets and gizmos onboard.

I cooked chicken pasta with tomato and cream sauce for dinner. It was fab.

Laurent and I had first watch at 8pm. However he fell asleep inside his cabin and I didn´t have the heart to wake him up so I was a brave sailor and went about my duty all alone in the dark night!!

(Later, however, I slept in for well over half of our watch at 4am, so as far as I´m concerned, we´re even now!)

======================================================================

29.12.06

We caught a big fish today. Looked a bit like a barracuda. Fish for dinner then. It really was an education. My first ever fish murder. We dragged it out of the sea, all writhing and twisting, whacked it onto a cutting board and swiftly decapitated it with my big shiny new knife. Thick arterial blood pumped out all over the board and the deck around, and the poor bastard was still wiggling when Laurent sliced it open from gills to tail. Naturally, more bloood splattered everywhere and we chucked the fish head back into the ocean. I´m sure it gave me a reproachful look on the way back in.

Panama: The Civilised Side

We are happily moored in a lovely marina, having successfully travelled through the famous Panama Canal from the dirty and dangerous city of Colon, which is the Caribbean side, all the way through to the shining waters of the Pacific Ocean and Panama City.

Colon was right out of an old latino gangster movie. Dusty, decrepid streets somehow clinging onto a memory of their past glamour like an old photo. Looking up at the faded balconies that overhang each street I could imagine a time when their facades were bright and proudly filled with rambling hanging flowers and exotic pot palms, where people would sit for an apperitif and watch the world go by. I enjoyed wandering around for 15 minutes, but I was highly aware of my alien status and the dire warnings not to walk alone on any quiet street, or dress expensively lest you be attacked in broad daylight!

So, the canal crossing... what an experience. I wondered at times if I was dreaming as I pulled on ropes with all my strength to hold the boat stable in the powerful current generated by the lock system. We were tiny in comparison to some of vessels that crossed with us, and the object of attention from two day cruise boats packed full of American tourists which were nested alongside us. I felt like a celebrity with all these people waving and shouting and snapping photos! Ha! When we finally passed through the final lock, and I saw the Pacific for the first time, I was so excited! Wow, what an achievement!































We´re staying in this marina for a couple of days to chill out and prepare the boat for the coming journey to Costa Rica and Mexico. I think I will walk along the promenade now, and watch the sun set with a nice cold beer! Cheers!

Lisa The Sailor

We have arrived safely in Panama! Hooray!
This has been the most unusual experience of my life so far....if that´s possible!!
I have thrown myself into the sailor life, bravely taking my watches at night, and steering manually through days and nights of 40 knots wind with waves as high as 7 metres! This is completely awesome. I have made some great friendships already with the captain and crew, and this journey is only half over! Plus, I have experienced no signs of any sea sickness, which as you can imagine is a massive bonus!!

We have to go now to sort out our immigration papers with the harbour master, but as we are spending 2 days here before travelling down the Panama Canal, I will have another opportunity to write an update with some photos I hope!

Happy New Year to everyone!!!!

OK.....here are some photos!

What Lisa Did Next: Escape From Canouan

I am swept up in a veritable whirlwind of emotion as I begin to write this (short) blog entry. There is a bottle of Verve Clicquot at my side (unopened) and a wild mischevious grin on my face.

Tomorrow I leave Canouan. Finally. Dramatically. Oh so Miles & Boon esque?

PLOTLINE: Wild but kind hearted single girl is left jobless and alone on isolated paradise island. Dashing French yacht captain pops by for a cup of tea on route to Pacific Mexico and next thing you know, bob's your uncle, and lonely female adventurer is taken on as crew, destined to sail off into a perfect sunset and live happily ever in Accapulco...

E.T.D. is 12 NOON.

I am anxious, excited, terrified and desperately estatic.

The next time I have access to the internet I will have been at sea for 10 days or more, facing the wild open ocean and encountering amazing sights and sounds, such as breaching whales and dolphins or the ominous slick trail of an shark fin following the boat...(hopefully?!)

WATCH THIS SPACE!!

BON VOYAGE!!

Feel the love HERE!

http://web.mac.com/miss_behavin

Quick photo in the shop!

Here's a photo of me and my friend Susan and the internet cafe guy, Devern, just so you all know I'm alive and happy!

A taste of local DIY

Union island is only 40 minutes from Canouan by ferry, however it is considerably more developed, with the tiny bustling fishing village of Clifton at its centre. It lacks the perimeter of golden sandy beaches offered by Canouan, but makes up for it with civilisation in the form of small hotels and bars, and a variety of modest grocery stores and gift shops. One crucial element that I appreciate more than I can say is the freely available running water. Canouan has no natural water available on the island, so all water must be delivered in large vats at some expense and piped into houses through mostly medieval plumbing systems. Most of the inhabitants do not even have this ‘luxury,’ and use outdoor plastic bowls for all mundane water-related tasks such as washing, bathing and cleaning.

It is with relief then, that I sip my glass of iced tap water straight from one of Union’s underground fresh water wells and consider a cool shower in a moment to refresh myself before bed.

Today I watched three generations of a family, all female, building a house from foundation up with basic shovels and bare hands. The grandmother helped mix the cement with sand and quarry stones, the mother was doing the brunt of the foundation laying and a five year old girl splashed water into the cement mix at intervals. I stood uselessly in the shade of a brick wall, sheltering my sensitive skin from the merciless midday equator sun, and watching in awe as this family built their future with blood, sweat and sheer determination. The husband, and loving father of three (plus three more 'adopted' children) is necessarily absent, working on another island for minimum wages of no more than £330 a month, which must cover the needs of the family, including every precious bag of sand, stone, and brick used on their home building project.

Did you think that a visit to Home Base or Do-It-All for a self-assembly shelf was DIY? Sorry guys, but THIS is the real shit!

These people have almost nothing, however, everything they do have they share with each other, and the neighbours, and the neighbours' kids, and the neighbours' kids' dog, not to mention myself, a stranger in paradise, but accepted nonetheless as family and treated with humbling kindness and warmth.

Oh the drama!

Oh the drama! My life is anything but boring. I had a fatal clash of personalities with my employer on Canouan island. We had a disagreement about the duties involved with the job, not to mention a few other incompatibility issues which only added to an overall sense of wrongness with the situation. After a few glasses of whisky (him, not me) and some tears (me, not him) I went for a late night walk to work out my options. Never being one to ignore intuition or gut instinct, I got the feck out of there the very next morning. I am currently in a secret location, somewhere off the coast of...err...Venezuala? I have even more secret plans to tour the Caribbean and end up somewhere lovely by early next year.

I have decided not to tie myself down to any dive job until I can be sure of my compatibility with both the owner and the general area. As I am an independant woman of means, I have no problem taking my time to think carefully before I commit to any offer in the future!

If I'm good, I might even get paid for my next job. :P

Island Life

I have been here for a little over two weeks, and have deliberately waited for this interval before a writing a new update. Two weeks could still be considered ‘holiday’ time after all, even if my new boss has been working me like a dog. Ha. (wink)

The truth is that it has been much more difficult to settle in here than Thailand, indeed, I am still finding my feet and learning more each day about the subtle nuances of island culture and politics. The combination of a busy city, modern conveniences and a ready made mass of friends made my introduction to Thailand a sugar-smooth whirlwind experience, and one that cut my ambilical cord to England in such a way that I woke up one day 3 months into my internship wondering suddenly where all the time had gone. Here, when I am not busy diving the days become long balmy affairs; lazy afternoons in the office (if not out diving) stretch out into the heat-hazed distance, and activity is a minimum. Perhaps I am still so much the city girl, as I feel the time pass as tangibly as a traffic queue, and expect something dramatic to happen at any moment, feeling puzzled when it does not. In my previous fast lane life there wasn’t time to sit around and read a book, or to entertain melancholy thoughts about homesickness. Everything was, “WHAM! BAMN! YESTERDAY MAN!” Now it’s, “Tomorrow man, or whenever yeah.” Can you take the city out of the girl? Can this girl become Island material? Questions I am still wondering tonight as I sit here in the house on the hill and look out over to the other side of the bay. All the lights are on, and everybody is home. After all, where else is there to be? Canouan’s social possibilities for the enthusiastic young are limited slightly to happy hour at one location on Wednesday, BBQ at another on Thursday, Karaoke at a hotel bar on Friday, and drinks at the Sailing Club on Saturday.

Certainly a world away from Pattaya’s voracious no–holds-barred nightlife. If Pattaya exists on one side of the coin, then Canouan exists on the other, dramatically contrasting in almost every way, except for a similarity with climate and it’s tendency to be over-populated with stray dogs and cats!

Here the ocean is turquoise and pristine. Unlike some dive sites in Pattaya there is no danger of finding yourself face to face in the water with the widely-feared Floating-Brown-Poo fish. The customers here are cheerful affluent Americans for the most part, and indeed, considerably richer than ‘yaw’. They are without exception (so far) courteous to the Nth degree, exuberant and trigger happy when it comes to monetary tips. (Not complaining) When I compare these guys to some of the chumps we had to take diving in Pattaya, I shake my head in wonder and thank the heavens above! I can’t deny that diving here is a real treat, but can I cope with the silence after the work day is over? In fact what may be a more appropriate question is, can I cope with the noisy late night TV's and sound systems which regularly compete with each other in the hills, converging film soundtracks, soca, hiphop and reggae beats on the house like a sound tsunami?

Actually I don’t mind it. Especially not after a dosage of something strong and alcoholic. I find it vaguely comforting knowing there’s some party going on out there somewhere, even if I’m not invited yet! I'm sure it’s a matter of time.

Time. There it is again. So much time. Time that has passed and time that is passing. I just hope that I am spending mine with the care that it deserves.

Setting a sunny scene...

And so it begins...

I'm writing this from my fabulous new place of work! I lean on the counter and look out into the bay; turquoise waters dotted with elegant yachts set against a background of lush cliffs. If you look closely you can see pastel-coloured houses clustered up the hillside like candy treats within the jungle!

This is my second day, and I still feel like I'm dreaming. I have been diving three times already, and I am trying to absorb as much as possible before next week, when I will be with 'real' customers from the oh-so-exclusive Raffles resort.
The visibility here is incredible. I have only seen water so clear in national marine parks in and around Thailand. Already I have met some of the local residents: a barracuda, several moray eels, a snake eel, and of course the wondrous and beautiful reef fish. The turtles are hiding from me at the moment. They are probably shy of new faces!

It's very hot and humid here at the moment, and I already have a collection of mosquito bites to be proud of! Do I care? No. It's a small downside to what is the most exciting opportunity I have ever had. This is truly a place where dreams are made.

I will get some photos and more stories very soon!

Autumn Days

Ahh, the crisp smell of autumn in the cool fresh air.

Bright winter sunlight and baby blue skies.

Ochre, gold and crimson, gleaming everywhere.

Oh look! I'm back in England! What a nice surprise!



It's really lovely being back in the UK, even though it is only for a short interlude before I jet off to another tropical island in the sun. (It's a hard job, but someone's got to do it ;) Maybe that's the reason I am enjoying myself so much at the moment - because I am aware that my time here is limited. As a result I am much more tolerant of everyone around me. Dad's jokes, which are often rubbish, I find myself laughing at quite genuinely. My brother and I usually communicate with monosyllabic grunts and awkward silences:

Me: Uh, alright?
Him: Yea... you?
Me: uh huh.

But recently we had a whole conversation over dinner. It was fantastic.

And, yesterday evening when I went to the newsagents, and saw all the little pikees hanging outside bumming fags from strangers and drinking cider, (it's half term) instead of pointedly ignoring them, and thinking "kids today," I smiled at them directly and thought, "aw bless those little hooligans." In response one lad nudged his mate and said, "arr, she wants yaw!" And so I tried to maintain grace as I walked away to a chorus of catcalls and graphic suggestions which should never have come from boys so young! I was shocked! I thought, "kids today!"

We celebrated my dad's birthday a couple of days ago. We had a family outing to our favourite local restaurant. It's one of those proper English pubs, with old oak beams and roaring fireplaces. The kind of place you dream about as summer fades, and you look ahead to festive winter evenings spent cradling a glass of your favourite tipple in a cosy corner.