And I'm back...

After a fabulous week in Portugal (note to self: week is never long enough, three years should just about cover it next time), with The Fisherman, my mum, dad, sister, her husband and my niece, in a fabulous villa, I am back on The Rock again and realising how much I miss living elsewhere. To distract myself from thinking that I perhaps made a mistake by moving back from a city I adored to an island where I feel stifled appoximately four times a week, I will list some stuff instead and think about shoes.

Number of times I compared my tan to The Fisherman's and found mine to be lacking: 8
Number of times I fell out of the rubber ring in the pool: 4
Number of dinners out: 6
Number of BBQs: 1
Number of times I said to The Fisherman, 'But you fish every day, why do you want to go big game fishing/look in a fish market/do something else fish-related': 200
Number of times I have complained about 'post-holiday blues': 2 million
Numbers of surfs: 2
Number of times I thought a Portugese driver was going to deliberately murder me with his scooter in my heap-of-shit hire car: 9
Number of times I crazy-danced to Foo Fighters with my 2 year old niece: 8
Number of times my parents forgot I was 21 and not 8: 15
Number of times I reverted back to my role as 'youngest child': 7
Number of hours I stayed out partying on the night I returned in an attempt to distract myself from the fact that I was back: 24
Number of times I have considered moving back to Brighton and/or going travelling on a prolonged holiday: 86 billion

More cheerful post tomorrow!