Welcome Home, the helium balloon that welcomes us says.

Except it’s not really home. Or it doesn’t feel it. But then after a day it does. Having had an emotional breakdown at the baggage carousel where I almost climbed on it, rotated through to the runway strip and tried to stow away on the next flight to anywhere (so long as it wasn’t BA), England is slowly working itself back into my affections. Not enough to make me stay let me add.

The things I am excited about:

  1. Being reunited with my shoes and my wardrobe and my handbag. Ahh Chloe skirt how I have missed you. Oh Topshop shoes that I cannot wear because the heels have been worn to stumps, how I have missed you, oh harper jeans from Topshop that I bought on ebay just before I left how I have longed to be with you again and scissor you into shorts.
  2. Karine Jackson – short hair long hair short hair long hair. My hair, which started short, is now long because I trust no man to cut my hair (or woman) except for Karine Jackson. But now I’m thinking long hair? Should I just keep long hair? I have until Thursday to decide. Help me people.
  3. Mark Archer Physio – the only man on the planet I would trust with my body (though not my hair) and not in a dodgy way but in a ‘can he fix three years of sciatica when dozens of doctors, surgeons, osteopaths, masseurs have failed?‘ way. Why yes he can. I have a hand injury and a neck injury (from writing) and I need fixing before John has to divorce me citing my moaning as the reason.
  4. Friends and Family – obviously top of the list. My blurgh mood on Friday shifted dynamically after spending three hours with three bottles of red wine and three of my best friends. It ended at 2am with tears, some more tears, a bit of slurring, some hugs, a pint of water, a chunk of cheese and a gossip magazine dissection (reminding me that Jordan is alone a good enough reason to leave the UK, that celebrity has a short life cycle and that all the English really seem to care about is how fat or thin their celebs are). Apart from that the night was a  big reminder that moving to other side of world will only work if a) I commit to using skype out every day and b) make enough millions by selling my book for film rights that I’m able to fly back every month.
  5. Marks & Spencer knickers. And percy pigs of course.

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