I am back where I belong. On the trainride home, reading a decadent copy of Venity Fair paid for my a kind gift from my coworkers, the sun came out after the train pulled away from Salisbury.
The sun has come out in me too. It's so nice to be home, as I must have said to everyone at least 100 times so far. It is though. Really nice. I walked up the road to my little house, let my self in and grinned. Home alone in my house and it doesn't feel weird. It feels like its mine.
Friday was pasta and catching up with ECS boys and drinking in the Hobbit and running home smiling.
My parents came on Saturday to drop off the rest of my stuff. Mum helped me fold everything and find a home for everything and now I have room for a whole load more of everything. I love the way my mum is like a whirlwind of organisation. In the morn, Chris and I had gone shopping as neither of us had food, and we sat on the balcony on West Quay eating grilled chicken kebab and olives, being impressed by the quality of writing in aforementioned Vanity Fair.
Then in the eve, Chris came round and I cooked Coq au Vin which whooped the arse of his packet version. I got my recipe from Allrecipes.com
and even though the wine was Asda's cheapest red, which stained the chicken radioactive pink, it was delicious.
Today has been peanut butter toast and brisk walks to run errands and buying Sunday papers.
I have a Toblerone to my self.
Its my birthday tomorrow.
I'm so happy.