Weekend in review

The Irishman and I spent this past weekend rediscovering our apartment. Despite our love of travel and exploring new places, perhaps the one downside is that upon returning home there is many times a sense of "where am I" and possibly more disturbing - "where's my ." The Irishman and I have both been all over Europe this autumn and we both had the sense that our flat is hiding key things (me, some shoes, The Irishman, some gadgets) and cleverly disguising them under a layer of dustbunnies. So we devoted Sunday to uncovering our stuff and deep cleaning in the process.

It was boring. Really boring. Not only because it was bookended by running (which was hard) and folding laundry (not hard but tedious), but because frankly weekends away in other cities or spent exploring the nooks and crannies of London are much more agreeable than the tasks you HAVE to do in order to live a civilised existence. We of course did nice things this weekend - we did a big green market shop and I got some gourds to decorate with, and we bought our annual poppies, and we caught up on both Mad Men and True Blood episodes. But I couldn't help feeling a little jealous of all of the people sitting at the sidewalk cafes in Islington, enjoying coffee and cake and the brief sunlight, while I lugged cleaning supplies back from Sainsburys to scour my tub.

It just goes to show you: expat life is, well, life after all, and has just as many boring ordinary bits as life in your home country. Bah.