Coming down...

I'm in the pub at 11 in the morning with my friend Big Truth:
"I know I haven't slept in 30 hours, but are you really holding a hamster?"
"He's called Pedro, and you've already asked me that twice."


Having spent half the night trying to sleep on a concrete slab at Bodrum Airport and the other half slowly travelling home, it was inevitable that I was going to be a little bit blurry yesterday. In fact, when you've flown 1,800 miles to see the girl of your dreams, the rest of the week was always going to be a little bit of a letdown. But somehow it didn't seem to be wrong to be drinking beer with my hamster wielding friend at 11 in the morning as a night flight, jetlag and two week bout of insomnia had combined to make it feel like 11 at night. But its felt like 11 at night for about 3 days now. My friend's plying me with beer and demanding to know how Turkey went, and isn't going to let social niceties like time interfere with that.

"So you hated Gumbet then?"
"I can safely say I've been to hell and back for her."
"What about the hotel?"
"Pretty hellish."
"You going back there?"
"I think so."

So a drunken post-mortum of my trip in the early morning turned into a drunken post-mortum late at night, with my ex-flatmate on hand to lend advice. We combined it with a welcome drink for my new Danish flatmates. They were quite impressed with my travel stories and romantic sense of adventure, even if my lady wasn't. And it feels weird but good to be back in Willesden wearing a jacket. I actually slept for 7 hours under a duvet last night, and my short term memory is slowly recovering.

And things aren't going to be that dull today. My sister's waters just broke, and I'm going to be an uncle.