London Calling

 

In four weeks I am going back to London.

I can’t remember being so excited about anything in a long time. The small fact that I have to run a 42.2km marathon while I’m there is beside the point, I AM GOING BACK TO LONDON!

I try not to blog about how much I miss London and that I’m not entirely happy being in Sydney, for the fear of sounding like an ungrateful cow. Sydney is a great city but when I left London I left a big chunk of my heart behind. I’m hoping to collect a bit of it when I’m back.

I know, get your violins out …

Anyway by the time I am back it will have been nine months since we left. Nine months of pining for the UK every day and although my English friends don’t understand how I could miss England, I really, really do.

Somehow I’ve managed to befriend all the British Expats at the boys’ school, managed to find myself an English running coach and a Scottish personal trainer. One of Holly’s best friends is English, Luca’s best friend is from the Lakes District and Charlie’s is from Cambridge. It’s like Britain is stalking me.

So although I am super excited about being back in London, running my first marathon and seeing my beautiful friends who I miss so much, there is something else I am desperately excited about.

Twenty four hours in an economy class seat.

All alone (well that’s not entirely true, Holly is coming but she’s like travelling with an adult).

Nobody to take to the toilet once every fifteen minutes, nobody to mop up apple juice off. Or vomit. Or poo. Or both.

No fights to referee. No whinging, no cooking, no washing, no school runs, no sitting in my car waiting for kids. No other passengers giving me filthy looks because my kid elbowed them in the ribs or stood on their feet. Or vomited on them.

Someone will bring me food, I don’t care how dodgy it is. I can watch a whole movie without having to press pause forty hundred times, I can go to the toilet on my own.

I can have a sleep, albeit sitting up. Sleep is sleep and I’ll take what I can get as I’m still debating whether to sell my bed as obviously we hardly ever sleep at home with so many insomniac children. How heavenly.

I might read a book. I’m going to write ten blog posts. I’m going to play cards with Holly and play “guess that person’s life story” about random passengers.

I’m going to watch Holly charm the socks off all the cabin crew, like she usually does – rendering us extra attention and better service.

And then I’m going to get off the plane, walk out and stand under the English sky and feel the tension of the past nine months leave me.

And I’m travelling sans husband so Rob won’t be there to accidentally lock any of the kids in the car at the airport, requiring at least three emergency services help.

That’s the plan anyway. But if you’ve been a reader of my blog for long enough, you’ll know that things never go to plan and there will be disaster at at least one point in the journey.

London is calling me and I am going!