I go on a lot about homesickness… and I apologise, but I will probably continue to do so from time to time, because… well frankly because I have a damn good life which means that ‘minor’ issues such as these play a bigger part than they otherwise would.
And apart from you lovely folk reading my blog there is one other person who has to put up with a much bigger chunk of my whining.
Birthdays while travelling seem to take place at two extremes. You either find yourself among a bunch of awesome people, and the fact it is your birthday propels everyone into party mode resulting an epic night. Or it’s lonely, in a city among people you haven’t connected particularly well with, which then becomes a half-hearted kind of tragic day.
My 92 year old grandmother recently had a fall and broke her leg. A broken leg is no fun, let alone when you’re 92. But she’s built from strong stock, my grandmother, so she pushed through the operation and is now part-terminator where the bone used to be. It’s easy to joke and look at the positives after the fact, but it was a tense few weeks for everyone as she endured through the surgery and the risks that come afterwards.