I actually wrote this yesterday but didn't have time to post it:

So, I've been AWOL. Again.

I'm not really sorry about that, because this time I've had a real excuse, well several excuses. You see, we've been hopping up and down the continents again - flitting to South Africa and back. Yes, the second time in three months. And guess what - we're going back again in June. Sometimes you do stupid things.

Another stupid thing is that we're moving house in amongst the chaos. We are relocating most of our worldly possessions this Saturday. Well, we're supposed to be anyway. But we've yet to pack, or book a van, or get keys to the new flat*. Hopefully this will all be remedied within the next few hours or so, but still. Stupid timing. Especially as we've just gotten back from SA (again - did I already mention that?).

And although we made it through North Africa without anything too frightful happening, I am adamant that I got a bout of food poisoning during the last flight. Serves me right for eating in-flight chicken, I guess. I've never been a queasy flier, but for the first time in my life I can fully appreciate the precarious mental state of nervous passengers. The flight from Cairo to Amsterdam was interminably long... and it seemed like every bump of turbulence was actively forcing bile further and further up my throat. Fortunately nothing happened on the plane (I'm pretty sure other passengers cannot say the same), but we had the foresight to remove some of those all-too-incriminating air sickness bags for the rest of our journey home. Because I needed it on the train.

Oh, that poor train conductor. She looked about 22. Possibly her first week on the job. She asked for my ticket and I responded by informing her that I was going to be sick. NOW. I grabbed the air sickness bag and vommed in the general direction of her shoes. She did not stick around. I didn't blame her. And that set the general gastro-trend for the next few hours as my internal organs marched to the beat of "heave, retch, hiccup, burp".

Through it all, I have to say, Mills was my hero. He shepherded me home after the flight, with much patience, as I had a quiet word with several dustbins, corner walls and garden beds along the way. He carried both my luggage and his, without complaint. He cleaned me up when all I wanted to do was sleep (while I had missed the conductor's shoes, I had not missed my hair). He patiently tipped water down my throat, by the tablespoon, in an attempt to stop me from dehydrating too much. What a winner.

48 hours later and I am no longer walking like a geriatric impersonation of my dearly departed Nana. I can stand up straight. Cramps no longer dominate my breathing pattern. So now I can finally get round to packing up the house for the move. Which has to happen this weekend because next weekend we're going to Paris to watch the French Open. Again. (For those who are wondering how we can afford all this... here's the secret... we haven't spent any money on a house, a wedding or children. Investment-shmestment. Roll that up and save it in your pocket for a thoughtful smoke later.)

Shortly after Paris, I'm jetting off to Monte Carlo for work. Then Mills is in Boston and New York. Then we're back in CT for the World Cup. "Oh-so-glam, dahling..."

Oh yes, and we just have to move and do all the relocation paperwork in between. We may be living like the rich and unfamous, but unfortunately we don't have the people to do the legwork. Which makes our lives all the more interesting. It's going to be hectic in the next few days and weeks. So I can't promise regular blogging. In fact, I can promise that there will NOT be regular blogging. But this is me checking in to say that I am still alive and kicking. Despite Egypt Air's best efforts.

And just to prove that some things will never change, this is what I did first thing on arrival back at my desk:


Ah, it's good to be back in the daily routine.

*I'm happy to report that we have since gotten keys to the new flat and booked a removal van. We still need to pack though.