I only just realised that my lack-of-blogging-of-late means that I haven't really prepared my loyal readers (yes, BOTH of you) for the idea that I'm about to go away again. Because it wasn't enough that we were in Egypt, or the UK, or in Switzerland, Italy, Slovenia and Croatia this year.
Thursday I fly out for two weeks in Japan where I expect to eat any number of strange wriggly things and abuse the eardrums of locals at karoake. Then it is on to Australia for three months.
Now some people may think this an overindulgence, but I ask you to consider: it is two years since I was last home; I have a year and a half old nephew whom I've never met and the next one is already due next week; my best friend has managed to get knocked up, pop a sprog and be almost out of maternity leave in the time I've been gone; houses have been sold and close family have established new relationships with people I've never met.
Plus if I have to live through another Berlin winter this year I'll go insane.
Three months is long enough that I can get to know everyone again rather than just whizzing in and having a meal together somewhere. It's long enough that I can restock my Australianness (and redevelop my accent to an extent that my husband no longer wishes to hear me speak). And it's long enough that I'll be ready to leave there and come back here again.
I need this. I desperately, desperately need this.