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.
|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.