All the tea in China and where I put it

I think I almost reached my capacity for tea this week - I didn't think it could be done, but, well, we can never predict these things. Once again, I found myself admiring bathroom decor, this time at Fi's new house. I also got to spend most of an evening in James and Teena's bathroom at their new house. These are all nice places and I thoroughly recommend them.

My five days in Christchurch were plum lovely and will need repeating at some point - especially Thursday powersuit luncheon. It was discovered that where size matters - shoulder pads - my pink suit of loveliness was lacking but that Sara's shoulder pads could have doubled as pillows. And there was much seeing of people and places - points to Pete for taking me to Taylor's Mistake so I could see the greenery and sea and feel dreadfully homesick (can you feel homesick if you're actually at home?) and to Fi and George and Gary for their hospitality and general superness - although I did find myself becoming increasingly jealous of their house. I want a house. All the cool kids seem to have one.

I drank far too much on my final night (when will I learn? I thought 30 came with instructions on maturity?) and I can't say that I enjoy flying on a hangover - so will be avoiding doing that again this weekend. However, Jess'n'Debs are in town and they are evil so I can't make any promises.

Am now at Nic's house in Sydney where his flatmate is murdering Knocking on Heaven's Door on the guitar - the fascination first time guitarists have with this song is awful. Right up there with chopsticks and the Entertainer for pianists. There might be a nasty incident with scissors and guitar strings, soon.

Nic's house overlooks the sea and I fell asleep to the sound of waves, which was all nice but I still had awful dreams about runaway wheelchairs. Wheelchairs in my dreams can hit very high speeds and always head for steep flights of stairs. They are, however, not as frustrating as the invisible helicopter dream I have where I always get caught in powerlines.
Nic, for reasons that I cannot explain, warned me not to sleep in the garden. Apparently when he did he woke up with ticks. As you do.

Three more days of holiday - then 27 hours of nastiness on a plane and then work! Fun! Can't wait! Maybe some more exclamation marks are needed here to make me sound more convincing . . . or perhaps not.

My personal war with exclamation marks continues.

But for now I will have another cup of tea (am glutton for punishment) and sit on the balcony in the sun and will not think about what the weather in London is like. Thursday's boozy suggestion of moving to Spain with Sara and Nic looks positively enchanting at this point.