Jet ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... lag...
Home! Hahahahahahahahhahahahahah! I am finally, at long, long last, back in my own home. My own bed! With my own stuff all about me, and my own cat to cuddle. And my own kitchen. Oh, the joy of eating stuff you've cooked yourself, rather than whatever's come out of some hotel's cockroach-infested kitchen*.
Oh, and my wife. Yes. Nice to be home with She Who Must Not Be Forgotten In Any Blog Post Thing On Pain Of The Stapling Of Delicate Parts. And I wish to formally state that I'm not typing that under any form of coercion, threat, or pointy object. No. It's all voluntary... *ahem*
Yes, so: the rest of the tour of Australia and New Zealand went not too badly. The high spots were probably the events in Brisbane** and Perth, with very close seconds coming in Melbourne at the Crime and Justice Festival. Where I got to say "FUCK!" very loudly in a convent. And it's not every day that you get to do that.
Everything post Perth is a bit of a blur. Other than the lovely woman on the way back from Singapore to Heathrow who decided to watch a comedy film at two in the morning (UK time) and laugh uproariously every fucking ten fucking minutes. And when I say 'uproariously' I mean 'loudly and flat'. Like a bloody witch that Wile E. Coyote's dropped a sodding anvil on. And when I say 'comedy film', I'm only guessing. Given the look of the woman, I wouldn't have been surprised if it was Schindler's List.
Anyway, so... Harrogate. Kinda went past in a blur this year, what with the jet-lag and all. I'm sure that in addition to being vague and wobbly I was probably grumpy too, so apologies to anyone I spoke to. Certainly I don't think I gave of my best at any of the events I was slated to do... Or rather, I gave of my best, but my best was considerably more crap than in previous years.
At one point I tried drinking heavily, and managed three whole pints before lurching off to an early bed. I did slightly better on the Saturday night, after popping an obscene amount of caffeine tablets. But that just led to me talking very quickly for three hours and then staring at the ceiling in my room wondering why the wallpaper wouldn't JUST FUCKING MOVE FOR A CHANGE!
And you know what? I can't remember very much about the festival at all. It's all a whooshy blur. With a speeded up soundtrack and a faint smell of elderberries.
From this, I think we can safely assume that jet-lag + caffeine = bad. Naughty. Not to be repeated.
But it's certainly nice to be home!
* Yup, I had a lovely meal in a VERY expensive hotel that featured a live floor show involving cockroaches. Huge ones. They couldn't sing and dance, but they did their best. All three million of them...
** Where I spectacularly managed to cock up afterwards and not meet up with Sean O'Boyle, composer extraordinaire. I completely spaced and forgot it was Brisbane I was meant to meet him in, which is a vast pain in the arse, because he does some seriously good music. I can wholeheartedly recommend his Concerto for Didgeridoo to you, because it's really rather good. Even though he'll probably never speak to me again.