busker

Homecoming Rules

There's nothing good about goodbyes, nor anything to stave off that first huge sadness as one turns the key in the lock and re-enters the rooms one left with joy and springy step when the whole trip lay ahead.

I *seem* to be getting better at handling those first depressing hours.

• Haul suitcase into bedroom and make yourself unpack the essentials: gifts, toiletries, clothes to wardrobe, books/CDs to be shelved
• Run deep bath with all the perfumes of Araby into which clamber with your mountain of mail at hand, a large rubbish bag and stout paper knife. Now is not the time to be faint-hearted.
• Separate bills from private mail and all decent reading/listening matter. Everything else is junk you will never get round to. Toss into the basket.
• Submerge in bath, wash hair and shave and soap assorted nooks and crannies.
• Towel and talc down and pamper yourself with welcome-home unguents. Pour large whiskey
• Boot up 'puter pay those online bills you can kill there and now. Reward self with fresh slug of scotch.
• Do NOT play those Greek/Italian CDs you brought back to relive those blissful days. It's over.
• Over.
• Top up scotch
• Make list of pals to phone in order of cheery conversation. Halve that list and check freshness of scotch.
• Ignore the damn'd phone
• Turn on radio and check news: you're back in the land of the living, laboring and impecunious. Lay out ingredients for a *proper* meal. Plenty of months ahead for a slacker's Hotpocket. Heavy lifting is required: reviving food and a good bouteille de vin is essential.
• Put Django Reinhardt on sound system and crank up vol.
• Light cig, open diary and plan next day's action, starting with emails 0800-0900hrs, phone calls 0930-100. At least two unbreakable appointments for the next day's afternoon.
• Kill CD and take down trusty dusty guitar and strum once only all those songs you wrote on hol.
• Cork the whiskey and return bottle to drinks cabinet; that's enough of the hard stuff.
• Attend to cooking and whistle a happy tune as you knead that steak into shape. Raise your glass of Volnay and toast a damn'd good time.