‘It’s interesting reading about the election in the UK isn’t it?’ Richard says.
‘Er. No. Actually. It isn’t.’
When I think of the UK I just think grey. And Cameron. And having to do my own laundry.
‘So do you think you’ll go back?’ he asks
‘You know Rich,’ I say, ‘I just can’t see it. I mean I have a pool here. I haven’t done my own laundry in three months. How could I possibly ever go back?’
A little voice in my head started screaming MONEY MONEY MONEY. I ignored it.
Today I met someone who after 10 years in Bali is going back to Scotland. I looked at her like she was crazy then I looked across her lawn to her swimming pool and to the kitchen where the full time nanny/maid was making her coffee and… again with the crazy thought. But maybe she’s a closet tory and is returning after a self-imposed decade in exile. In which case.. again with the crazy thought.
‘This place rocks,’ I tell Rich.
Every morning I feel like Snow White. A squirrel ran across the living room as I ate breakfast. Two butterflies waltzed over my head. The gecko family (Money and Hoola Hoop – named by Alula) sit sleepily on the ceiling. I’m waiting for them to start singing in harmony about my prince arriving one day. I look at John plugged into the matrix and think ‘yep, still waiting.’
Eight years ago John, Rich and I were all cramped in a London flat. Now we are all here in Bali. This is totally an upgrade. So no, I can’t see myself living in London permanently again.
But I will tell people it’s because I can’t step foot in a Tory run country. I won’t mention the laundry.