Hey there stranger.

Why didn’t I get in touch sooner? No, you’re right it wasn’t you, it was me. Awkward.

I haven’t had a dry patch this long since I started blogging. And it seems the longer time goes on, the less likely I am to boot up the virus-ridden laptop I’m currently rabbiting away at you from.

It’s hard to explain. And I wouldn’t even call it writer’s block. Whilst travelling, I was having crazy new experiences all the time but didn’t share them so much in an effort to break the mould.




There are thousands of blogs, like diaries, which attempt to relive every moment, even if they don’t translate so well onto paper. If they’re not boring, or monetised to advertise a certain destination, they serve to make the reader jealous as all hell.

I didn’t want to do that.

I wanted to be a bit more controversial. Talk about the things people don’t see or address when travelling a well-trodden path.

The last month we spent travelling was like a really long holiday. Perfect for Becca — if anyone needed a month drinking cocktails under the sun, it’s her. Even if those cocktails were bucket sized and filled with enough liquor to kill a small human. We were knackered after one too many over-night bus trips in Nam, and the impending pressure of returning to real life and dealing with our loss was draining.


For me though, especially, I was getting restless. Despite every day being full to the brim and every experience bonding us closer together as friends, I wanted to be home.

Let’s paint the picture.

Tropical island, £5 a day moped hire, Thai food every day, friendly and youthful travellers, no worries in the world.



The harshest winter in recent memory. Beast from the east. Regimented monotony and winter blues. Not to forget, the unsmiling Brits.

beast from the east

Sounds crazy doesn’t it. But I just couldn’t shake the feeling of not really living. Of not truly belonging there. Maybe it was the fact I was blowing all my cash on a daily basis without earning a penny. Maybe when, say, opening the door for someone, I needed a slightly awkward nod of gratitude (or to be completely ignored) instead of a beaming smile.

It was like living in a Utopia. And what I really fancied by week 12 was to stick some gloves on and bloody myself on some brambles. Bit masochistic.

So I didn’t blog on our return to Thailand because I didn’t want to be called ungrateful, or “scum”, I think Dad called me. Thanks for that. Prodigal son’s back now!

But that’s no excuse for my silence in the last two months. I know you all live for my life updates! (insert thumbs up emoji)

It’s been weird for me. Well… It’s been weird that it hasn’t been weird being back.

Life just carries on as before, with the immense travelling stint having very little bearing on normal life. It’s back to playing Yellow Mini in the van, back to coasting along, earning for the next big thing.

The frustration I had travelling is sated day by day with physical, honest work. But what I really want from the coming months is progress.

I want to move out, reclaim some independence, maybe in my work life too. Get a couple of granny clients of my own. Because although going travelling was an eye opener for sure, the real self-growth can only happen where you’ve got your roots. At least for me. For some, that may mean uprooting entirely. Personally, I have everything I need right here, right now to develop from the lanky man-child I am, into a functional adult.

While I earn enough money so I can stop having long exciting holidays, I’ve had an undertaking or two to keep me sane.

There isn’t a whole lot I can do for Tristan’s Pawprints at the moment, but we, the three musketeers — travel buddies for lyf etcetc — have signed up for one of the toughest runs of the UK calendar year.

The Beachy Head Marathon.

26.2 or so miles of hills, wind, and knowing my luck, driving rain. The kicker? It’s on my birthday!

People die running marathons you know.

So that’s why we’ve been super keen and started training months in advance, months even before we’ve set up a fundraising page. But I just can’t NOT talk about it now.

We’re on four runs a week with added core, stretching and now boxing. It’s fantastic. I no longer need friends because every moment is taken up with endorphin boosting, soul-enriching exercise.

mm mmmm…

Minus the hill training actually. Hill training is satanic.

I also started on bumble, which hasn’t made me hate life quite as much as tinder did. Remember that blog? Every other girl still raves about pizza. It’s inescapable. At least they’re not raving about something disgusting like kiwi fruit I guess.

Seriously, who tf thought that monstrosity would be a pleasant snack. Give me a slice of banana cake any day…

So that’s pretty much life for me at the moment. Not the adrenaline-fueled excitement of zipping 125’s along questionable roads, or soaking in the heartachingly beautiful vistas in SE Asia. But I like the challenge of writing about the relatively mundane and trying to keep my reader awake.

Just be thankful I haven’t given you an earful about Fortnite, the perfect companion to a solitary evening.

Hopefully we’ll speak again soon. Bug me. I’ve missed this.


2 thoughts on “Acclimatising

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