Never walk alone

It seems that I've been slacking off again. It took a none-too-sbutle hint in a PS on an email to get me back here, however often I've thought through some things to put online recently. This little thing called a life keeps getting in the way. So now I've had to go back to thinking about what I've been up to in the forever since I last posted anything, if only to keep Ralphie off my back. I'm here Ralphie. Slap on wrist accepted, and anything to keep me from having to deal with the complications of my company's new invoicing system, so this could be a long one.

My flatmate is heading home for a month to visit family and friends. I'm sure said people heard her squeals last week when she got the news that her nephew had been born. If not, they probably felt the unbounded enthusiasm that was being sent their way, to be followed in just under a week by an enormous suitcase of gifts for the newbie. The miracle will be that she manages to cram any of her own clothing into the case. But I'm having a hard time understanding her right now. I've been battling a little with homesickness over the past few weeks - not enough to make me go home, no, but enough to make me miss certain things a whole lot more. I'd be over the moon at the thought of a visit, and I've only been here for six months. So how does she feel to be heading home for the first time in 18 months? Absolutely, completely, totally petrified. For no reason that she can explain, the thought of the trip brings on terror. Like all fear, it seems completely illogical, but thinking through what I know about her, I think I can find the source of the problem.

She's far happier over here, more relaxed and content than she was at home. I think she enjoys the distance from any family troubles, and the independence of doing what she wants, when she wants, without having to explain herself to anyone. I know I appreciate those things. She enjoys getting paid well - very well, in fact - for her work, and throws herself into everything. In short, she is happy here, to the point of occasionally considering staying permanently (I hope I'm not divulging any secrets here). But when she comes back, it will be a month down the track, her parents will be following soon after, and she will have no job. She's not certain what she'll find at home and, being a generally insecure type, is probably worried that friends will have changed, moved on, or generally altered their views of her. How do I know that? Well, her dieting in the lead up to the big day would put a bride to shame. As she loses as much weight again as she ever gained from the Heathrow injection, I find myself taking a little stock of my own life here.

It's safe to say there is a little distance between London and I at the moment. I've been out of it all for the Easter long weekend, heading to the Lakes District for a bit of R and R, that turned out to be quite painful as what we'd thought would be a 2-day walk around a lake turned out to be a gruelling up and down trek out of sight of said lake. In a strange situation for people used to the well-defined paths of national parks in Australia, we found ourselves climbing stiles, trekking across fields that we were sharing with sheep, cows or horses, and wandering along world famous walking trails to spots that were either incredibly beautiful, packed with mountain bikers, or, in many cases, surprisingly like the Victorian countryside. Did I say wander? Hmm, poor choice of words perhaps, as anyone who is unfit and finds themselves walking for almost 40 km in 2 days will testify. I didn't so much walk the end of each day as stumble, and found it hurt more to stop than it did to keep going so, on the many photo stops enforced by my travelling companion every time she saw something 'photo worthy' (there are many sheep throughout Cumbria who are stills triking poses in the hope she walks by again; most of them feature at least once), I simply kept walking at my snail's pace and left her to catch up with me when she was ready. In spite of the pain, though, I came to love the whole fresh air experience, and the novelty of being able to drink tap water once again. I even managed to lose, for the time I was there, the persistent cough that has returned along with me to London. Or perhaps it was just waiting here for me to get back. But, to be honest, the only thing keeping me in London right now is the knowledge that I need to work to fund all the plans that have been made for the rest of the year. The trips, the shows, the sights, the debt. Otherwise, I'd be headed for the hills, the ocean, hell, the desert, in preference.

London is a filthy grimy disgusting city. It seems to be gripped by insanity amoung its teenagers right now, who are stabbing and shooting each other with a zeal that puts Melbourne's gangland murderers to shame. If the tube isn't breaking down, I'm being woken in the middle of the night as someone on my relatively respectable street tries to punch the living daylights out of someone else. And I live in a nice area. The climate is appalling (although thank god there is finally sun and warmth; not, apparently, enough for them to turn the thermostat on the heating to anything less than stifling, though). The people are unfriendly and, if you comment on the fact that they cut you off, you are likely to hear the words, 'You ain't in your country now, bitch,' fired back at you. Sure, it has its charms - the theatres and the shopping spring to mind - but, when the homesickness starts to bite, they aren't nearly enough to satisfy, however much they may help to take the edge off. So, why do I stay? It might have something to do with the ease with which I can get around Europe using this as my departure point. It has a whole lot to do with the charms of travelling on the pound, rather than a measly Aussie dollar. It has even more to do with the fact that it's in an english speaking country, a melting pot of cultures where it is possible to feel somewhat at home even as you despise its faults.

So no, I don't understand why my flatmate is in such fear of going home, getting herself stressed beyond belief. I'd trade places with her in an instant. But for all that, I'm not yet ready for home. Not in any sense of the word. My time will be up all too soon, if the speed of the past six months is anything to go by. So until then, I'll just have to suck it up - and try to avoid sucking in too much of the grime as I do.