Ah, coming home. Ain't it nice? Though fings ain't wot they used to be, of course. London really has gone to the dogs without me here - the old routemaster buses that used to go by my house have been exchanged for shiny new versions with doors. They may be safer and more energy efficient, but they don't look as good, do they?
And it's nice to get Christmas presents in March when you've forgotten all about it. Thank goodness chocolate coins are made with enough preservatives to keep them fresh for a while. Home, sweet home.
My last days abroad were spent in Singapore, and included many hours in its much-hyped airport. Contrary to popular belief, it's not a fun place to spend the day. Changi airport, while clean, spacious, and - well - pretty much as airports should be really, is not, as many people have told me, more exciting than the city itself. Yes, it has a swimming pool and an internet lounge, but you have to pay for them. There are also some very expensive shops. "Do you want a teapot or some chopsticks?" I asked my brother by email from Malaysia. "Get me something big in duty free," he said. But the smallest box of chocs available cost more than the entire contents of my backpack, so I picked him up a little something at Heathrow before hopping on the tube home.
Some friends arranged a dinner to welcome me back. I was, of course, talking so much that I forgot to drink, so the whole table got very merry while I gabbled on trying to catch up with the pop idol gossip, who was shagging whom, and where everyone was now living, and attempting to think up witty answers to questions about how many kebabs I'd had on my travels and which places I enjoyed the most.
On reflection, it was Sydney and San Francisco that stole my heart. Two great cities on the water's edge where the buildings (wouldn't William Morris be proud) are both beautiful and functional. Where work is a mere by-product and hanging out, in beaches or parks or bars or coffee shops, is an art form. And where the people are friendly, accepting and cool.
It's to the coast of California that I intend to return when I have a chance, to read more Steinbeck and look again at the sea mammals playing on the shore. Perhaps there'll be time for a trip inland to see Miss Shasta County 1980-something, whom I met on my travels and who hails from a town "where they have beauty pageants and rodeos and everything".
And maybe I can return the favour and have people come and visit me here. I've moved back into my north London pad, where they have crackhouses and prostitutes and shooting and everything, not to mention the best kebab shop in the world, which is something I can say with more authority now than I could four months ago.
