Returning to the UK...

Funny how the smallest situation can change our whole personality momentarily. If I find myself in a restaurant I am a certain type of customer. I will always eat the tough steak so as not to delay my fellow diners by reordering. I will not call over the waiter and bother his busy schedule to refill my drink. I will not complain of the stained table cloth causing someone to get into trouble. I will do without extra mayonnaise so as not to seem demanding. But... If a small insect should land in my hair whilst dining... I become the customer from hell. I will scream hysterically, I will jump up and down, I will tear my own hair out. I will require every available member of staff to assist me in removing this creature from hell. I will demand a complete and constant inspection of my hair for fellow beasties. I will need reassurance throughout my meal that said creature is not still crawling through my roots. I must have plenty of hugs and understanding from my fellow diners and hear them repeat that 'no, I am not over reacting' 'I would be the same' 'your behaviour is perfectly rational'. Until I can return to my normal unassuming, quiet and mild mannered personality... Today's drama.

I am returning to the UK. Not because of above mentioned beasties! I do miss the UK and have done for a while now. Portugal has been good to me but it's not home. I don't quite know where home is other than I have had, my whole life, that feeling of wanting to go home. I've still got my Motorhome and I miss being in it. It's my own personal space. It's my safe place. And it's mine.

I've signed up with a house sitting website and am hoping some wonderful person will ask me to care for their rural home over the winter months, even if I just park up next to it and be a caretaker. Then Milo and Me will hibernate for the winter and I will write my book. And, if I don't win the lottery, burn twigs, eat pine cones and drink from a stream...!

I miss my Beast...