Apologies for absence

An awful lot of things have happened over the past few weeks that have not only left me dumbstruck, but also unable to express my thoughts and feelings in the manner that I usually would. My passion for writing and conveying my thoughts and feelings to all and sundry was finally put to the test when I was told that under no circumstances was I to put anything on the internet in relation to what I have just been through. It reminded me whole heartedly of the scene in "Good Morning Vietnam" where every morning Adrian would walk past the news printers only to watch each story in turn get censored and being left finally with the weather report as the only true story he could tell of the days events in the middle of the battle field. Pushed to the edge, Adrian finally flips, grabbing the news reports and barricading himself in the studio, he reads the news at it was.

You could easily misinterpret my first paragraph, believing that I had a dark secret that the world was not allowed to know about,a skeleton from my past that had come back to haunt me or, like in the stories of Harry Potter, that I may have mentioned the name of "he who shall not be named". As it is, none of this is actually the case and I struggle to understand why my voice has been muted on this occasion but, with the deepest of respect for my family, I shall bow to their wishes and tell you a story about my recent trip to the UK instead.

I too, like Adrian, finally flipped. After possibly the worst sickness I have ever suffered in my life, I truly believed on Thursday night that I was going to die. Having spent nearly an hour conferencing with God on the great white telephone, I had regained enough energy to try and take myself back to bed. On route I collapsed on the stairs, unable to move and unable to speak. I wanted to cry out for help but no sound came out. I laid there for what seemed like an eternity and I was all set for that out of body experience when I would look down on myself lying on the stairs knowing it was the end. The fact that I'm writing this now gives away the end of the story as I'm still alive and feeling much better.

My trip to the UK was possibly one of the shortest yet, running parallel with a very similar one from 2011. On Friday afternoon I met up with nearly all of my family for a glass of wine and some sandwiches. Having missed the annual Christmas gatherings, my last one being 2007, it was the first time I had been with so many of them in years which made the whole event very emotional for me. Friday evening was spent at my sisters drinking into the night before being whisked away in the morning to play some softball and catch up with my old team mates. I've often referred to the softball team as my extended family and I was never more grateful to have them around than on Saturday night when I boiled over like a pan of pasta spewing everywhere. I can only express my greatest gratitude to those who propped me up that night and I will be eternally grateful to you. By Sunday night, my extended family struck gold again after 1 line on facebook bought out a dozen friends to have a drink with me in the Stag. Monday morning kicked off with one of Grandma Jennys most excellent full English Breakfasts, with a touch of Polish. Two and a half days can fly past incredibly quick when your feet barely touch the ground.

Back in France now, most definitely at home, with the weekend behind me but never forgotten.