After spending a not-as-bad-as-I-thought-it-would-be 25 hours in transit I'm back in Brisbane.
I took a valium and slept from 2am till 4pm. 14 hours. An all time record for me.
It's pissing with rain. I spent $100 at Coles to start off my health kick for this week. Detoxing is high on the agenda as I'm bloated and dehydrated with the ridiculous amount of partying I did while on my London sabbatical.
I'd love to say that it's good to be home. But I honestly don't feel that way. I'm missing London already.
On my cab journey home from the airport (1am) as I drove past some local "Brisbane Hot spots" it was a ghost town. Where are all the people? This truly is a sleepy little town.
I know that in a few weeks time I won't notice this as much as I do now.
Sheer population creates a wealth of opportunity for dating, meeting, partying, networking. It's the chance of running into a beautiful French man or being taken to a boozy schmoozy Monegasque party at the Saatchi Gallery on Kings Road. It's being treated like a lady constantly. Constant civilised male attention. Constant entertainment. Tables laden with any kind of drink you want at the most exclusive star studded clubs. Glamorous 'Rainwear'. Access to the best fashion in the world. Access to the best everything in the world. Proximity to Europe. Different cultures. Etiquette. Different accents. Wealth. Power. Prestige. Opulence. Cheap cabs who don't ever need sat nav.
I miss this place bad.
This is the hazard of being a citizen of the world.
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