I can’t really account for the last month.
I can’t quite believe it’s been a month. Four weeks sounds less scary. Closer
to London, not increasingly, terrifyingly, further away.
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| On the ferry to Manly |
It’s good to be home, where home is a
moving feast of emotions attached largely to family members and friends. Sydney
is eluding me for the moment. Things familiar and comforting are the people who
know me best, who acknowledge the last five years and what they’ve
meant/involved/provided and who offer the proverbial gentle hand (and/or kick
up the arse) to start getting on with things here.
But I ache for London. Like a crack whore
wanting one more dose of the possibilities.