Tired Headaches – post holiday moans!

Gawd I’m a whiner. I was all geared up to coming on here and raving unsubtly about the brilliance of my holiday – the quirky stories, the azure seas, the scenery and the camels. Yup, that is right, the camels!

However, I went back to work, fought myself reluctantly through 150 all important emails, battled through meetings and terrifying intimidating catch-ups, and came home with a headache. I’m sat here on the sofa (my niche in the cushion is fast becoming a rut, I may never leave!), frowning at a screen that is too bright, stuffing myself with headache worsening sweets and trying to remember what I was all excited about.

Essentially, my dears, I am having a honest-to-god case of the unappreciative girl’s post-holiday blues. It’s totally justified, to be honest – the difference and relaxation of a trip away is replaced immediately by the increased workload and guaranteed cold wet weather on your return. I swear, the Vitamin D just drained right out of my body at sight of the clouds!

I supposed I am more whiny because of certain tax and money issues I have also come home too – but really, it is just a reality check and reverse culture shock. Terrible, eh? I did, however, treat myself to a Feel Good Food magazine, so am hoping to remind myself how to cook for Digging for Truffles, which has been sorely neglected of late.

Now the moaning is over (MAN is it satisfying!), I shall leave you with a little amusing tale from my travels, regarding the learning of British phases abroad.

On one of our trips, we met two very lovely couples. On the long coach ride back, interspersed with rips to various hard sell commercial venues, we did that customary holiday routine of exchanging witty cynicism’s and cute tales. The winner was the guy opposite us, which had interesting things said to him at a local market. Trying to battle through the hassling and attention grabbing of the (over)eager salespeople, this boys hand was grabbed by a certain t-shirt stall owner, trying to encourage him politely and enthusiastically that what he really needed was 10 knock-off t-shirts for a pound, and that he would quite possible live to regret it for evermore if her didn’t buy them immediately. Extracting himself determinedly, and apologising profusely, he walked off up the road… only to hear the stall owner call him a “sheepshagger”, in a most impolite (and shocking!) fashion!

Of all the insults to pick up! I honestly don’t think he could have been insulted in a more satsifying and amusing way!