Getting back on the horse

Yesterday, sitting in the subdued environment of the Qantas lounge, with the Irishman chatting away on my behalf, and stroking my hair in comfort while I cried, I realised that I need to exhale a little and let some words come out with the air.

I'm trying, and the words aren't coming out easily or poetically. I'm not feeling sorry for myself or thinking that life is bleak, I've just run out of steam. I didn't think there is anything left in me, but there is still hope, and with hope, there's chance for everything.

I'm in Oxford today, which is bitingly cold; I had to wear a shirt on my head like a scarf while waiting for Martin to collect me from Thornhill.

On a more chatty note, I enjoyed flying business class immensely. I love being pampered, being called by my name, and having hot chocolate and heavenly biscuits, champagne and fillet steak to order. Perhaps a bit of TLC or at least attentive customer service, was what I needed!

Tomorrow, I get on the horse to East London, to commence my monopoly board stay around the capital.