I can only assume that this weather is some kind of cosmic joke. A meteorological slap down to my electronic worship of ceaseless blue sky images plastered all over the flickr homepage. We reluctantly left Auckland under sunny skies clothed only in shorts and sun cream, arriving back at Heathrow similarly dressed, but much colder.
A brief prod of the soft news underbelly – poked by a refreshing fast and free Internet connection – revealed that England is still rubbish and sport but that hardly mattered since the entire island was about to be carted off to the North Pole by a bastard winter storm.
Such is the insanity of long haul that a mere 30 hours separates the lingering end of a long, hot summer and having your face ripped off by icy rain. My first response to all this sudden weather was to layer myself in ever more fleecy clothes, my second was to start peeling which just shows the human body is clearly fooled by aeroplanes.
In more ways than one. My jetlag is on the irritating side of properly funny with bipolar perambulations between madly wide awake at 4am and falling asleep at my desk just after lunch. To be honest, no one noticed much difference other than I Was harder to wake. The rest of the family seem to have conveniently ignored that it’s 4am in the morning most of the time, except for little Random who is suffering a few head/food interfaces.
Most of the last week – before returning to the Devil’s weather experiments – was spent idly watching the sun climb over a wave-capped pacific from the vantage point of around 100 yards. The limit of my ambition were frequent visits to the double height beer fridge and watching the kids being dragged under by the rip tides.
To say this was mildly relaxing is a little like wondering if setting your trousers on fire would be slightly distracting. The whole Beach/Bach house thing would not work well in – say – Cleethorpes, but it is failure proof in a land of deserted beaches, jaw dropping scenery, cooling sea breezes and an endless array of beer and cake.
But while the weather has been busy, my solicitor has not. At this rate of progress, we will move in just before the kids leave home or this jetlag has finally worn off. It is, however, providing an excuse to put back my fitness kick for another couple of days as CLIC-24 hurtles ever closer.
21 days with 2 riding bikes and 20 quaffing calories in many interesting and varied ways added only 3lbs** to the svelteness of Al. But I appear to have grown breasts, so it’s tea instead of beer and the drudgery of sorting a 1000 photos assuming I can stay awake that long.
Oh, and to any of you kind hearted sods that sent me one of a thousand emails, I accidentally deleted the whole lot ten minutes ago. You know where to find me, I’ll still be asleep at my desk.
* Salad you see. Refer to last paragraph for more. I’ve always found jokes are so much better appreciated if you need to explain them.
** I refuse to go metric. I was born before 1971 and therefore exempt.