I’ve been awake all night and will probably be awake much longer.
I was supposed to stay at a hotel nearby to Heathrow last night, but my bus from Stansted got in too late, so here I am, with a sore arse from sitting on the cold tiles at the airport all night, and so so sleepy after just 21.5 hours awake. I arrive home in 27 hours from now. I hope to sleep for at least a few of these hours. My seat on the 13-hour flight from London to Singapore is terrible — the middle seat on the left hand side of the plane (it’s a 3-4-3 configuration. Bah!). My seat from Singapore to Perth is better – a window seat. Thank god.
I’m nervous of course. I always am when I fly. But more than nervous, I’m just excited to be home.
To my bed.
To Perth.
To normal food and not having to do anything… but just being able to be.
To Rhys.
27 hours. That’s nothing.
