I am home

Today, the bloke who was renting out my flat for the Athletics went home at six am. So I, anxious to be back somewhere I could find toilet roll, met him at six am to come home.

As I dragged the last bag into the elevator and shut the door on that alcohol-urine smell that's so offensive to others but that I have grown immune to, I did a happy dance. A big happy dance. As big as the elevator would let me. I think I almost sang "no stinky boys", or something as grown up as that because I would have my space. Mine.

I spoke to Lyla last night, who was a bit worried I had gone off the rocker. We had a small but strong chat about how I have always been walking away with nothing, in every sense, and made plans to make sure this wasn't the case, this time, I would feel in control. She arrives in two weeks, BA strike notwithstanding. The itinerary has changed to add girl power elements and now that I can also fit her in the flat, she'll help with the packing, sorting and garage-saling.

Last night the Irishman told me he lost his job and potentially a lot of cash. I genuinely felt for him, however if I was going to be in a similar situation, I would hope to be in Finland, where one hopes contractual law is taken pretty seriously. Someone muttered it was karma but I don't think like that. In fact, if he was still here, it would be my problem too, and I'd be trying to help me back on his feet somehow. The hard thing about splitting up with someone is hearing bad news like this, but having the steely resolve to limit your sympathy at the appropriate point. So, to ensure this, my new financial advisor, who shall remain nameless as he is very very A Team, suggested that I don't allow my sympathies to prevent me from accepting money I am owed. I hate money for these sorts of reasons, but I guess there is no reason why one of us should be more broke than the other when it comes down to it.

On a lighter note, I am being set up with a plethora of blind dates. I said I was also happy to accept deaf ones, and hey, paraplegics even! In a bid to ensure my return to Finland, the single blokes are being paraded out at point so late in my being here that it won't be possible to find their faults before I get on the plane. At any rate it will be fun to meet new people and try out the list of restaurants that Sami has suggested (they look delicious Sami but will I find a Finnish guy who will pay?!)

Today the Irishman comes to the stuff swap thing, which is fairly unemotional as it's mostly the assorted flags we were trying to sell at the Athletics. That said, I am sure it will still seem deeply symbolic to me so expect some kind of pathetic post at midday. Sami and Sarita, bless them, are on standby, with a number of activites poised to prevent me slipping into day sucking melancholy. The last of the activities involves strawberry margueritas, and as I have a real cocktail thing at the moment, I am salivating in anticipation.

Last night at Outback, I tried Pete's Creamy Stuff. It's a name of a cocktail, well we named it that along with some very X rated facial expressions, side comments and the like. Delicious. Pete you better be able to repeat that.

The Bar has lately been full of tourist Aussies either on backpacking trails or for the Athletics. I love the righteousness you can assume when you meet them, even being here eight months. "Oh you're just a tourist are you?! " and you scoff at their ideas to come live here only for the women. If only there was a vaccination you can take for Hot Blonde Syndrome!

I love that bar very much, only for the people in it. I love how Byron Bay Boy's sympathy last for 24 hours and then he knows I need a laugh and gives sh1t fast and furious to keep a smile on my face. I love how The Swedish Finnish Aussies are propping up their Coronas with their Collingwood stubby holder and that surprise surprise, the lovely Welshman was there, before going to see someone about crabs.

I'm not there all that often but it's almost like the home away from home. Only this time with nice stinky boys.