There can be nothing surer in life than when in the company of jetlag and flattened misery, small doses of a highly caffeinated beverage and a smear of red Chanel lipstick can save a girl's ass. This would be me. Hello London.
The last few weeks in Sydney went by ridiculously quickly and were punctuated by very little in terms of excitement. Just family time, some Pittwater time and a fleeting, rather disappointing, cameo back in the Bondi hood for an honorary dip. I'm glad I didn't hype it up or I would have been epically disappointed, as opposed to just mildly bummed. It was like the Central line at peak hour out there past the waves - shoulder to shoulder with people in your face every which way you swam - and instead of well thumbed now abandoned Evening Standards getting tangled about your feet it was seaweed. Seaweed. At Bondi. It was equal parts disappointing and just plain insulting. Thankfully though the sun appeared after we had emerged from the water....
I hated saying goodbye to Nan. Hated it but she wouldn't be the matriarch she is without some sensible, sage advice, some encouragement, a huge hug and and an all-knowing understanding of what belongs where in the world. Which, apparently, is me in London.
I didn't much like saying goodbye to Mum at the airport either and sobbed all the way through customs. Thanks to a last minute re-pack at check-in because of the additional seven kilos I tried to get away with my jewellery pliers unknowingly ended up in my carry on. Only to then end up in a bin at security. I was all cried out at that point to really give a shit but nonetheless it wasn't helpful. Accessories as weapons of mass destruction? I hardly think so people.
The flight back was fine. If by fine you mean economy and a first leg Sydney to Singapore seat that didn't recline. We both managed a bit of sleep on the second leg but yesterday was a looong day. There's only so much faffing a girl can do to keep herself awake and by 7 o'clock I was so sick of smacking Lovely Betrothed Boy on the arm and telling him to wake up that we just went to bed. I woke up at 11.15pm and then again at 3am and then again at 6am and may have had another little cry.
I've kicked my own butt since then, with the aforementioned help of caffeine-related substances, Chanel, a twirl through the shoe floor at Selfridges (for medicinal purposes only of course) and a ream of lists. I've chased up a job interview, sent my CV to a recruiter or two and bought a calendar for the kitchen. Now to fill it with art dates, play dates, theatre dates and hopefully a holiday or two.
Tomorrow is a new day and I'm hoping that once the jetlag goes the misery and flatness will take a hint and sod off too so I can get on with the year and my list of lists.