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Thursday, August 24, 2006 


I have been home twenty seven hours and have already:
  • Spent fifty pounds.
  • Drank thirty units of alcohol.
  • Confessed all about my lesbian dream to the other participant in the dream.
  • Left my debit card in two bank machines.
  • Had my debit card rejected three times.
  • Been shopping.
  • Had a conversation about breast enlargement, Wonderbra's, bums sticking out of changing room doors, and pigs in front of an increasingly amused, and incredibly hot, shop assistant.
  • Eaten sushi.
Things I haven't done:
  • Unpacked.
  • Downloaded any of my photos onto the computer.
  • Taken my phone to be repaired.
  • Looked for the guarantee to prove that it is really my phone, and wasn't just damaged when I was stealing it from someone else.
  • Fulfilled my promise of commitment-free, fantastic sex with my ex boyfriend.
  • Checked my mobile phone bill.
  • Sent off the application for a provisional driving licence (I actually have enough money too now).
  • Exchanged all my money from Euros to Pounds.
  • Slept
All in all, not especially impressive. And actually rather distressing, I mean, thirty units? I literally got home, took my suitcases up into the house, left them in the corridor, and got back in the car and went to the pub.

Nothing has changed. It has in small ways, like Hayley's lost weight and Stacey has toned up so much that I'd hurt my knuckles if I tried to punch her in the stomach. My sister is half an inch taller than me, and Oscar's has changed from icky purple to icky gray. Marks and Spencer's have added a few tables in the food court, and there's a Ben and Jerry's in the entrance to Fenwicks. Morpeth has also gained a Marks and Spencer's food court, and lost an Iceland.

But they're so minute, and so few. Intrinsically the place is exactly the same as when I left. I picked up conversations with friends from before I went away, and arguments with my father that we've been having for years. The old wine cellar has again changed from Fleetwoods to Rumours, but its the same type font, same colour scheme, and same designs on the windows. I've walked into a time warp. A perpetual ground hog day which I can come back to whenever I please and still meet the same people, go to the same places, and have the exact same conversations.

Its comforting.

I've never thought of here as home. The village is... tiny, rural. I hate it. But this isn't about the village or the house. Home is me and my dad arguing about whether I made salad dressing or vinaigrette. Home is giggling with Stacey and Hayley in the Lemon while the dj puts really crap music on loud. Home is gossiping with my sister about who said this, and who did that. Home is going out, getting drunk, and failing to go home with anybody cos they're all ugly, irritating, and generally not worth it even when completely pissed.

And yes, I don't want to spend my life here. I don't even want to spend the next two months here. But it's important that I can come back here once in a while, because there's just too much stuff, too many memories, too many good and bad times, and all of them need to be remembered. If only for a very short time.

I don't want to live here, but I've missed being able to come back.


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About me

  • An albatross can fly for thousands of miles without getting tired. I've always thought that love is similar to flying, therefore we should aspire to be like the albatross.

    I don't know if I can do that. So far I haven't been so lucky. But one day I'll test my wings with someone, and flying won't be so hard after all. Or so painful.
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    * In 2001 one New Zealand fishing boat killed over 300 seabirds in just one trip, while fishing for ling.
    * Each year over 300,000 seabirds are killed by longline fishing.
    * Over the past 60 years some albatross populations have declined by 90%.
    * Annually around 10,000 albatross and petrels are caught in New Zealand waters alone.
  • Save the Albatrosses
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