Wednesday 4th April

Six weeks. 8800 miles. 21 states plus Canada. Four time zones. Nine rolls of film. Eight different cats, six fish and one mouse. Four new t-shirts, two new hooded sweaters and three new hats. Several thousand monogrammed napkins. Eight beds and countless bus seats. I have returned! To find my tacky computer desk shrine destroyed and strange teenagers knocking on the door telling me they miss my brother already (after six hours). To find my recently repaired air bed with a new hole, which I cannot find. To the light from the Luxor. To a computer whenever I want it. To my ICQ list. To 134 emails. To a washer and dryer I know how to use. To the infamous shower. To the freedom to blow dry my hair fearlessly naked. To house keys. To Father Hand snoring on the carpet with his head resting on a book by 8pm. To fairy lights and diet Coke in the fridge and pictures from home and 1500 MP3s to choose from. To "Tuesday's library day". To a crash diet and a cupboard full of snacks (all I did for the last 2 weeks was eat out). To being quintessentially Sally again, and next week Sara.

The day after my last entry, Denise and Dan and I drove to Baltimore via Harriesburg, where Dan had to drop some papers off for his business. Since this was the day after I discovered Mr Z had purchased a plane ticket, Denise talked about that a lot (I'd say "we" but, bless her heart, Denise usually talks the most in any conversation you might have with her, which can often be a good thing) and succeeded in making me about 70 times more nervous than I had previously been, by saying I was extremely brave (?!) and she wouldn't want to be in my shoes, and then suggesting I take a change of clothes to the airport in case I throw up on myself while I'm waiting. She then started making outfit suggestions which further escalated my panic attack (I hadn't given it a thought prior to this) and convinced me that the only thing to do is turn up in a sack.

Anyway, upon arriving in Baltimore we checked into our 20th floor hotel room, complete with view, minibar, high speed internet connection and free soap and moisturiser. Denise had bid for the room on Priceline.com and managed to get it for $75 for the night - we found out afterwards that such a room would usually go for $250. Bargain! Denise and I jumped up and down on my bed for a while, just because we could. Dan decided that, since I was English and therefore undoubtedly a curry fan, we'd go out for an Indian meal, since Denise isn't fond of curry and my being there was a good excuse. We found an Indian restaurant and proceeded to eat an extremely good meal that was (counts fingers) four courses long if you include the bread, and that didn't even include dessert. We discussed the merits clarified butter and drank champagne and struggled, bloated, back to our hotel to sleep on full stomachs of spicy food. Luckily nobody suffered any ill effects.

The next day, we checked out and drove down to Chesapeake Bay to go to the aquarium and the science centre. I was excited to see the sea again, and lots of sea gulls, and a few ducks. Dan ate sushi for breakfast (and I thought *I* had an iron clad stomach...) and then we went into the Aquarium just into for the dolphin show, which was amazing. One of the dolphins was due to deliver a...baby dolphin...a caviar? a calf? I forget...but luckily she kept her flippers crossed long enough for the show to go on, to our delight and that of a couple of hundred school children. After that we roamed around looking at the tanks and took a wander through the rainforest and had long discussions about how, if we ever have kids, they will be so much better behaved than everybody else's kids (the arrogance of youth again). We ate lunch at a seafood buffet that served water in individual pitchers with straws, and then went to the science centre (which was a bit disappointing..not as good as the one in Pittsburgh, apart from they had a "How far can you stretch?" test and I rated as "rubbery" which was the highest *preen*) and saw a 3-D Imax movie about the depths of the ocean. It was superb, it looked like the fish were swimming right in front of my face. I learned something about opalescent squid - once in their lifetime, they meet in a huge gang and all have a mass orgy, after which they die, their corpses littering the sea floor and being ingested by other creatures instead of the eggs they have left behind to start a new generation of opalescent squid. It was quite something. Would that make life easier? I wonder if they know that they're going to die right away, but I suppose there are worse ways to spend your last day alive. I still think I'd rather be reincarnated as one of the proud lobsters, though.

After a swift visit to Cheesecake Factory (obligatory) we drove towards Washington DC and managed to find a hotel room somewhere in between the two cities, although it wasn't as nice and much dearer. We sat in and ordered room service and watched a movie, then got up the next day and drove into Washington DC, where we parked in the customs building. Before letting us in, the guard checked the boot and scanned the underside of the car with a mirror on a stick. We went to the Lincoln memorial (Lincoln's hands are carved to spell "A L" in sign language - for Abraham Lincoln - but nobody's sure if it's purposeful), the shiny black memorial to those who died in Vietnam, and the Washington monument, which changes colour a third of the way up because that's when the civil war started and they had to stop building for a few years. We went to Arlington Cemetary and saw the changing of the guard at the Tomb to the Unknown Soldier (which is empty - the US government DNA tested the Unkown Soldier, who then became the Known Soldier and was removed for burial by his family). This was a very solemn occasion, only slightly marred by somebody's cell phone going off in the middle. I wondered what the guards thought about, as they paced endlessly up and down in front of crowds of gawking tourists. Arlington Cemetary was quite something, with row upon row of identical head stones. We wandered around and wondered what the different religious symbols on the head stones denoted, and in spite of loudly voicing my disgust at people taking pictures in Auschwitz, I took pictures of the trees because they were a very pretty red. We saw JFK's tomb and the eternal flame burning on it. There was even a statue to an Englishman there, I was very impressed.

We ate some lunch from a roach coach and then went to the Smithsonian, or at least part of it. The part we went to had the ruby slippers from The Wizard of Oz, and I wondered if I borrowed them I'd get home on the cheap. There was also a newly opened exhibit about the Presidents of the USA which had some cool stuff in it, although not George Washington's wooden teeth which was a pity. We lost Denise for a while in my quest for a cash machine, but upon finding her, drove out of the city, stopping only so that I might buy a hooded sweater reading "FBI" (swag..love swag..must have swag). We stopped for dinner at a nice Italian restaurant just outside of the city, and the journey back to Pittsburgh was uneventful until the last ten minutes, when poor Denise woke up and had us pull over, whereupon she leapt out of the back seat and spewed spaghetti all over the pavement. I felt really bad for her but I got a giggle fit because of all these noodles. Evidently she had been poisoned by the Italians, because she was sick and in pain all the next day, pobrecita. Still, it gave me time to pack and that evening I went over to Lisa's to say goodbye to Jamie and we went to the bar (Lisa and I..not Jamie, heh) and drank enough that I boarded the bus very prepared to sleep. I was foiled by an idiot brat who spent his time wailing like a siren or wailing tearfully in Spanish when his mother belted him, all the way from Cleveland to Chicago (six hours). I was ready to have the driver pull over and strap the evil child to the roof.

But, I kept my composure until we got there, and got a taxi (luxury!) from the bus station to where John works. John's an old friend from Forest, who I haven't seen since, funnily enough, the last time I saw Mr Z. He married an American nanny called Danielle and now lives in Chicago. They were going to an ice hockey game that night, but one of the people she sits for is a player for the Chicago Wolves, so they managed to get a free ticket so that I could go too, much to my excitement. It was very fast moving and relatively violent, although John and Danielle told me that there are usually fights on the ice and the quip is "a hockey match broke out in the middle of the fight", so it was apparently quite a tame match. The Chicago Wolves beat the Orlando Solar Bears 3-2.

The next day, Saturday, we went to a shop that sold English candy (FLAKES! *sigh*) and then to Gurnee Mills mall, which was enormous. We spent at least 3 hours wandering around and I bought a new hat, $25 reduced to $3, and some fishing line for beading. We went to this enormous shop selling all kinds of things for outdoor use - fishing equipment, golf clubs &c. - which had a huge fishtank in it. I had my picture taken looking terrified in front of a stuffed bear, and I was letting the baby fish nibble my fingers whilst nervously watching the enormous, toothy fish eyeing me. So, my nerves were suitably keyed when John snuck up behind me and gave me a minor heart attack, tsdk. We ate dinner at the Rainforest Cafe, complete with enormous tanks of tropical fish and fake thunderstorms every half an hour, and I got a chocolate volcano, which consisted of ice cream (naturally) and massive slabs of brownie, topped off with a sparkler. I didn't eat much of it, but it was impressive to look at, hehe.

On the Sunday, we went bowling and I scored 98 on my second game, which I thought was quite respectable for me. John and Danielle scored over 150 each in all three games, mind you, but then I'm a semi-beginner. We went and wandered around a Costco and I got some pictures developed - hour service, double prints, for $5. Am I good at finding bargains or what?! After that, it was time for the final meal of the condemned Sally before the 41 hour bus ride back to Vegas, and we did it in style with roast pork and tater tots (tater tots! tater tots! I'd almost forgotten..) before they dropped me at the bus station.

I was an hour ahead of time, and the line was already hugely long, but funnily enough I only had someone sitting next to me for the first 4 hours, and the rest of the trip I had a double seat to myself (personal stereo/being asleep combination again). It wasn't as bad as all that, except that Nebraska and East Colorado have to be two of the flattest, most boring states ever. Sadly, it was dark by the time we left Denver and got into the Rockies, so I could only see snatches of them in the starlight, but what I did see was pretty spectacular. I went to sleep around 4am and by the time I woke again we were in southwest Utah, at the Bambi cafe and truck stop in Beaver, and there were mountains around and I felt home getting closer and closer. We crossed a corner of Arizona through the Virgin river canyon which was breathtaking - so colourful - and then we were in Nevada. It was warm! The logo returned on my cellphone. I noted that my bus driver was wearing cowboy boots and was armed. I purchased my last-leg bag of nacho cheese Dorito's - tradition, now - and lived every minute of the last hour twice, or so it felt. When I first caught sight of the skyline, I was so happy so be getting near home I didn't know what to do. It's funny that Vegas feels so much like home now; I get similar rushes when I cross the bridge over the strip of sea just outside Portsmouth, or when I see Battersea Power Station from the train on the way into London Waterloo, but those are both places I've lived for a number of years.

Anyway, Father Hand and Sibling Tim picked me up from the bus station and brought me back home and viewed my swag, and then Tim rushed off with some of his newfound friends and Father Hand went back to work and I was left with my computer and my slouch-about clothes and the shower and the phone. Bliss. It's so good to be back, although I did have an absolutely amazing trip and it was so good to catch up with everyone again. Denise and Dan are talking about coming down to visit in May and we might go camping in Yosemite National Park, and Panda's possibly visiting too; but prior to that, Mr Z arrives on Monday (how did that come about so fast?) and a week after he leaves, Mother Hand visits for two weeks. Tim left this morning, looking extremely tanned and happier than usual. He's been going to church while he's been here, and a couple of his church friends dropped by to say goodbye last night. He introduced me and then told them I'd expressed an interest in going to the church, the meddling liar. So now I have had to promise 16 year old called Emily that I will call her, so she can arrange a lift for me. Tim informed me that I would not be allowed to ride with any boys. This afternoon, another 16 year old - Danielle - dropped by to pick up a CD I hadn't made for her, and asked me if I missed Tim yet. The thought of missing Tim has never actually crossed my mind, unless connected with "Damn - must get the sights fixed on this rifle" (I jest, I jest), so I replied no, but then qualified it with "He's only been gone for six hours" to make me sound not quite so witchy. She informed me sadly that she missed him already and he'd promised he'd come back in the summer. She then asked me if I needed any help unpacking or doing laundry, so maybe there are some benefits to befriending my brother's harem after all. Except that, of course, I hate other people doing my laundry.

Life is good, life is sweet. In a few months I will be back in England bitching about having no money and having to commute to London every day for uni and the weather and pretty much everything else I used to bitch about, but for the moment, I want for nothing. So make the most of it! Bask in my happy glow. According to a fortune cookie I picked up in Pittsburgh, "my smile makes everyone realise that the world is a lovely and beautiful place" so that undeniably proves that everyone reading this should feel better just for seeing this:

(Obligatory cynical cackling noises)

Monday 16th April

It strikes me that if emotions can ever be proved to have similar properties to electrons (bear with me..I'm dabbling in some physics and I don't understand it) then airports must be a dangerous place to be. All over the place, people overflowing with joy and flowing tearfully with misery, 24 hours a day - if one was susceptible, it would surely be very unfortunate to spend any amount of time in such a place. I thought this this morning as I watched the plane with Mr Z pull out of the gate - there were 3 of us girlies (not all there for Mr Z I might hastily add) lined up with our noses almost pressed against the window, flooding the place. It was all very sad. Especially considering that crying women fall into 2 categories - those who can cry and still look beautiful, and those who get red and swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks - and all three of us fell into the latter category.

But anyway, Mr Z has been and gone - hence the lack of updates for the past week because, well, there was nobody there to do them (grin). We went to the pub often and did touristy things - we saw the Pirate Show at the Treasure Island and the dolphinarium at the Mirage, all that good stuff. We went bowling and I won (I bowled over 100, ha!) and we played pool and darts and I lost, to even out the balance (yes, I am indeed trying to make it sound like I lost on purpose). Father Hand was suspiciously well behaved and didn't show up to pick us up from the airport bearing a spiked club or anything, which was a mercy. My carefully laid plan to stalk Mr Z from the gate to the baggage claim without him noticing me went a bit pear shaped, however, because I managed to pick the exact inconspicuous spot he looked directly at as soon as he got off the plane, and my cloak of invisibility was a bit low on battery power so I sadly stayed visible and he did recognise me. By that point I wasn't having an adrenaline-fuelled fit anymore though, because he was just about the last person off the plane, and I was more worried that he wasn't actually on it. Things improved from then on, by all accounts, so I have only good things to report, but I don't think I'll report them here - you'll have to email me and I'll decide whether your security clearance is high enough to warrant an answer (cackle).

Sibling's little friends have been over a couple of times - mainly Daniella, to quiz me about whether Tim is "a player" or not. She also wants me to give her advice in a big sisterly sort of way and thinks I can teach her a thing or two. The first thing I need to teach her is that if she's going to dye her hair blonde she should stop using a black eyebrow pencil (meow). Last night she came round and we were just about to go out so I scurried off and hid in the bathroom and got Father Hand to tell her I wasn't in. It didn't go well - he chose instead to tell her that I was hiding because I had "something on my face" - without specifying what it was - and didn't want to be seen. I'm trying to decide what the something should be - I'm leabing towards those Biore strips you get free samples of in magazines.

Sibling continues to have an effect from the other side of the Pond. As I rummaged in a pile of papers in a cupboard I never look in today, I came across, in the middle, and unopened letter to me from Mother Hand. Very strange, I thought, and opened it to discover the deferment forms for my student loans - due to be returned to them by February 15th at the latest. I'm having a not particularly mild panic attack about this even now, 3 hours later, because if I can't defer they'll try and take money and when they can't they might instead try and take me to court or something horrible. So now I have to try and ring them tonight and throw myself on the mercy of the sharks, and it looks like I'm going to have to pay them 110 quid a month for a little while at least. Not much, maybe, unless you haven't even got the 10 (grin) oh well, this is just another extremely good reason for me to come back to England earlier than planned. Tomorrow, preferably. Well, probably June.

Pictures from my odyssey have been developed but I haven't scanned them yet, I've been too busy doing other things *wink* Actually...laundry, today (grin) but that's only for today. The sun is shining and it's starting to get hotter in Vegas (92 degrees today) so I'm wondering whether I should spend more time outside so that Mr Z and I can play "Hunt the White Bits" when I get back (cackle) or whether I should just hole up inside and be my usual reclusive self. Now that I've discovered the local pub does draft cider - albeit cranberry - I might even venture down there by myself *gasp* for the odd one, just to keep my tolerance levels tolerable. And then of course there are the pools to choose from - although the hot tub nearby is broken now: it's just a tub, as we discovered when we jumped into it at 3am on Saturday night and nearly got hypothermia. I managed, extremely cleverly, to leave my jeans next to the spot where the water was sputtering onto the ground, too, so I was treated to some chafing action on the walk home. Me and my drun..*cough* bright ideas. I digress. Who needs an outdoor bath when it's 90 degrees outside? I can go and recline by the pool and try and look mysterious and still sweat off 4 pounds a day without even trying. Marvellous.

Wednesday 18th April

Happily, my student loans saga has been resolved. I tried to call over and over again on Tuesday morning, only to be greeted with a male Scottish recording - "Sorry, all our operators are too busy nursing their Bank Holiday hangovers at the water cooler to take your call at the moment, please try again later" *click* - which left me even more panicky and caused me to pen a very hissy, panic-stricken letter to them. Thankfully Father Hand convinced me to sleep on it before I faxed it off to them, because I tried to call again on Wednesday morning and actually made it into a queueing system. When I finally got an operator, joy of joys, their system had gone down, so she couldn't discover that I'd given them an account number which won't accept direct debits and lecture me about it. She told me just to send the form in with a covering letter from Father Hand, and that's all that needs to be done. Happy day! I can stop panicking now.

Mother Hand's approach is imminent (Monday) and I must say, I'm quite relishing the prospect of being in the same room as both of my parents for the first time in years. We're going to tart around the Grand Canyon for a while and she'll probably insist on me accompanying her to church (note to self: buy some realistic-looking fangs and a long black cloak). However, it will be nice to see her again before I go back and move in with her - she's booting the lodger out and I'm getting Sibling's old room....he apparently wasn't very happy when he heard about this, but thinking about it, it's karma really, since I hadn't been moved out of Mother Hand's old house for a week before he moved into *my* old room (sibling rivalry, ain't it grand). Sibling is a new man, apparently - he's been staying in a lot and eating meals with Mother Hand and sitting and watching TV with her, and he got a job within a week of his return - in fact, he's doing everything she used to complain about him not doing. The only cloud is that he still sleeps all day and stays up all night, but then I think that's the Father Hand vampire gene coming through.

Have been looking up flights home and finding them not quite as bad as I first thought - the first place I looked offered round trip for $850, or one way for $1200...hmmmmm, what a choice. But I've found some much cheaper ones since then; I just have to find out whether booking a return flight from London and then only using the return is a viable option, since by June the schools here will have kicked out which makes the flight prices a bit higher. It looks like I'll be back in time for the general election, which is almost a shame because I've got my vote-by-proxy forms all filled out and everything.

I don't really have much to say but I felt like writing because I'm happy. I know, sickening, isn't it (grin)

I've been attempting for the past couple of days to drag Bunnyland, kicking and screaming, into new technology - thus, I have caved and finally written something with frames in it. The new framey diario archive is now up, as are a lot of my trip pictures. I realised that nine rolls of film make for a lot of scanning though, so I haven't finished them yet. I'm still feeling smug about learning to write frames...and yes I know they've been around for years, but I always liked to think that the content of my little site was enough without having to add any fancifications. But, I have to admit, I like the frames, they make my life easier. And I couldn't just go and rip off the code from another website, either (although, Steve, I did try yours) because I couldn't work out what the hell was going on, so I had to go and download a tutorial. Shameful.

Thursday 26th April

Have just been watching Robbie Williams on Jay Leno. I watched the whole show just for that one part - which came right at the end, of course - and he was absolutely hammered. He started talking about going to slumber parties with Janet Jackson (also on the show) and fiddling around with his fly - I think Jay Leno thought he was going to flash the audience. Then he said he'd been recording "We Are The Champions" with Queen and it was then that he realised the colour of adrenaline was brown. That went down like a lead balloon, unsurprisingly. I am shamefully a fan; I do own a Robbie Williams CD, and I listen to it probably more than I should, but I really think that it's difficult to find anyone else who has lines like "I'm so superstitious so there's something you should know/The reason I'm doing you is cos your friend said "NO"" in their songs. It makes me laugh. Sometimes it makes me cry, but only when I realise that I'm supposed to be an adult and being a fan of Robbie Williams isn't exactly grown up. But then, I never screamed and cried about Take That (say nothing about me buying the greatest hits album after they broke up..) (doh) and it's not like I scream and cry over Robbie Williams (shudder) I just like him because he always seems to have so much fun with his performances, &c. &c.

There's no justifying it, is there

I have to report - have new male in life as of today. He's beautiful. Sadly, he knows it, which I don't find to be a particularly attractive quality in men; but luckily he is a fish, and he *is* beautiful, so I am willing to make allowances. He is a fighting fish and he is blue and red and mauve, with white tippy bits. This made naming him a bit difficult since I was going to call him Ceausescu if he was red and Thatcher if he was blue (lucky he's not blue - I think Father Hand would have flushed anything called Thatcher down the toilet). Mother Hand suggested I called him Blair, since he's a bit of red and a bit of blue (very clever, I thought - but she only realised the irony after I'd pointed it out). But, Mr Z is as contemptuous of Tony Blair as Father Hand is of Mrs Thatcher...sorry, "BITCH Thatcher", to use the Father Handism...so I decided against it and have instead named him Vegas Vic. Vegas Vic is swimming around in a big vase next to my monitor and inspectigating things near his bowl. He's read the nutritional information on my diet coke and has started on the directions for use on my moisturiser ("Capture Mr Z; remove clothes..") (only joking. sort of.) A minute ago I was playing Toploader and he liked that - started swimming around manically and flicking his tail about happily. Now I'm playing Ani Defranco and he's resting on his blue glass pebbles at the bottom of the bowl and only surfacing occasionally for air. I don't think he likes angry lesbian folk singers.

Vic and I will have a happy, fulfilled relationship together for the next 6 weeks, at which point I will leave him to return to other man in life. Father Hand probably wouldn't have kept him; Frankie offered to take him for Littlest Treasure Alex to care for; but then Father Hand realised that Vegas Vic was a handsome carnivore, and is quite taken with the idea of a fish that feeds himself - I think he'll buy a few feeder goldfish once a month and throw them in there. After all, this is Vegas - what could be more appropriate than a buffet? But maybe Frankie will take him after all; or maybe I will buy another and pit them against each other in the fight of the year. Poor Vegas Vic. I couldn't do that to you, could I fishy wishy...coo coo coo....

I am missing an outlet for my affections, is it obvious? When we went to the pet store today, they had a lot of puppies in little glass cabinets, and they were all eating or sleeping or ignoring the world behind the glass - except for this once little ball of curly white fur, who jumped up on its hind legs and started pawing the glass and barking as soon as Mother Hand and I walked in. I couldn't look at it, for fear I might have left the shop with it. And I don't even *like* dogs! I have a feeling that I should own a golden retriever called Bentley, though. I don't know why; maybe I dreamed it or something, but I've got it into my head now.

Until yesterday I was feeding the cat that used to live downstairs. She was a very pretty long haired thing, called Baileys because of her colouring (I called her Bailey though - seemed more dignified), and the horrible neighbours in the flat underneath ours decided she was too expensive so they took her collar off (with her medallions recording her obligatory rabies shots on it - hence making her illegal) and kicked her out, in favour of a pathetic looking King Charles spaniel that barks into the night. Anyway, poor Bailey had been languishing around the apartments for a few days, in spite of all little-girl Katherine's best efforts to get someone to adopt her (she lives in the downstairs opposite flat and is about 10 and she likes me because I buy her ice cream sandwiches when I go to Dairy Queen and feed Bailey). So anyway, when we got home from picking up Mother Hand at the airport on Monday, poor Bailey was slumped at the top of the steps, and she could hardly stand up because she was so weak (it was 96 degrees that day), so Father Hand permitted me to feed her (on the pretext that he wanted her alive and around to embarrass his neighbours - but I think he was just being soft) and I gave her a tin of tuna and she scarfed it down in a couple of minutes. The next morning, Mother Hand gave her some milk, and I gave her some more tuna that evening, much to the delight of the neighbourhood kinders, who stood and watched her eat. Then later I caught her and brushed the burrs out of her fur with my hairbrush, but she wouldn't let me at the knots underneath - they were big knots. So vowed to catch her with scissors on the next night and get rid of the knots. But the next night, when I put food out, she didn't show up (sad face). Cannot decide whether bitch neighbours took her back in, or reported a stray cat to the apartment managers and had her removed. Miss her lots. But will be seeing my cat again soon, I suppose, even if she does make me sneeze. I don't understand how I can be allergic to short haired cats and yet fine around long haired ones...it doesn't make any sense!

Mother Hand stated that I wouldn't be allowed to have a fish when I move back in with her since "she knew who'd end up cleaning it out." Feel like a 10 year old again; but then, she's never quite got over me moving out and leaving the Ziglet behind. As soon as I get a place where she can live too, I'll take her. The cat, not Mother Hand (grin). But don't know if I will be living with Mother Hand again after all, since all plans have changed again now. After saying pretty much since the beginning of this diary that all I wanted to do for a living was write, I have finally realised that all I want to do for a living is write. Well, and travel. And get paid, of course. Hence, the masters won't be much help, so I am deferring that for another year and I've applied for a job as an international travel consultant. Emilia the Gem found me the advert in Jobs Unlimited - they were advertising for "well-travelled graduates" - and they had vacancies in...wait for it...Bristol. 'Slike, a sign from heaven innit. Still, jobs I am "perfect" for are the ones I never seem to get so I'm not holding my breath. But, when I get back, I'll look for a real job (pause for everyone to revive themselves) instead of going back to uni just because I don't know what else to do. I realised it's a luxury I don't really need and can't really afford, this year at least. It also might be more fun to actually *see* Romania rather than just reading books about it in London.

I'm really looking forward to going home, in spite of the fact that I'll probably be cold for the whole of the summer. As the date for leaving draws nearer (first week of June, if everything goes according to plan) I'm missing my friends more and more. Jen has already semi-organised our back-together-again piss up. I heard from Leila this week, she said she has missed my sense of humour and has found out she isn't who she thought she was, which is intriguing, and I must now return to find out who she is. Zoe has been spreading vicious rumous (grin) about Mr Z's age so I have to come back and put her straight, with a pointy stick. Just kidding! Beccy is working about 3 jobs; Kez is being naughty; Stu hasn't been to a cheesy concert in AGES; Steve is thinking of selling his house before I've even seen it; Bernie must be pining for Crazy Salads by now; I have to see Caroline again before the tax office (where she is working) totally brainwash her; Allen is thinking of flying to Milan to visit a bird and needs some sense talking into him; Justine likewise, since she's developed a crush on one of Five. And then there are the countless people who I don't know about. And then of course, top of the pile there is Mr Z. I'm going to be very busy. Maybe I shouldn't work at all, and just be a professional socialite (snigger).

As I said, Mother Hand arrived on Monday, and I was quite surprised to find myself getting quite choked up at being in the presence of both my parents at the same time again for the first time in, ooo, about eight years. Must be all that emotional energy flying around at airports, like I said. Mother Hand and I are going off to see the Grand Canyon next week - she has actually agreed to let me drive some of the way (wonders never cease!). She has never been comfortable being in a car I'm driving since I nearly drove into a tree in a car park when I was learning and she got heart burn. In my defense, the accelerator was stuck down and I was bent down trying to unstick it, so it wasn't really my fault. I'm glad she's finally decided to trust me again - that only took five years!

More pictures from my other trip are here. I'm slowly trying to get them all up, but it's taking longer than I expected...Enjoy!