Home and Time to Recover (In More Ways Than One)

I'm home.

I can't believe it.

Actually home.

No longer in the land of lush, rolling fields full of lolling cows and sheep, of bustling city centres and sprawling grand estates, of amazing, kind people and...well, I could go on and on.

So, so much to talk about. I met Shirley and Diane in the flesh and found them both to be absolutely lovely. I wish we'd had more time together, but we will definitely plan more next time!

In my travels, I listened to a live rock band, took a beautiful nature walk through a sprawling park, saw ducks chasing one another in a pond, talked to a 72 year old woman who has cycled for 70 years of her life, sat in a church build in the 11th century...and I could go on. And I will. But today, I must tell of The Experience.

I had just arrived in London on Saturday night at the tail end of my trip, found my way to my hotel, and had just had a lovely shower. I decided to grab me a bite to eat, then maybe watch a bit of t.v. before I went to sleep in preparation for my big day in London. And oh, how excited I was! The Imperial War Museum with the special Ian Fleming exhibit was THE place to go that day, along with some much-needed souvenir shopping. I could hardly wait.

But then, twenty minutes after I ate, I got a not-so-good feeling. As the evening progressed, this feeling turned into a very miserable, this-isn't-good-AT-ALL feeling. I won't go into the gory details, but let's just say that I was the victim of probable food poisoning. That's the only thing I can figure out that would land me that quickly in the bathroom with my head stuck in the toilet. All. Night. Long.

Now, let me tell you, there is not much worse than being in a foreign country, thousands of miles from home, alone, and sicker than a dog. And that's exactly what I was. I was so sick that I was in tears, so sick that I nearly passed out and thought that I'd have to go to the hospital in England. And even worse...so sick that I was completely and utterly miserable about the thought of not being able to explore London the next day.

But...that's exactly what happened. I could barely move yesterday in my hotel room. I was so dehydrated that I dreamt about drinking water. When the hotel shops and cafes finally opened, I pulled on some clothes, dragged my hair out of my face, and stumbled downstairs and bought me a gigantic huge bottle of water. I stayed in my room the entire day, crying because I just wanted to go home, crying because I didn't get to see what I came to London to see, and crying because the whole situation just called for it.

I prayed a lot. I slept a lot. I watched a lot of t.v. (Strangely enough, the BBC had a feature on James Bond and another on World War II, perhaps their way of making it up to me that I couldn't actually go to the war museum and see things for myself...haha!). And I survived. But it will forever be known as The Experience.

I'm now safely home, my cat wandering across my desk and getting in the way of me seeing the computer screen (and I'm not yelling at him too loudly), and my daughter is quite happy with her Scooby Doo action figures that I found in England and have been carrying around with me practically since the first day I got there.

So! Lots and lots and LOTS to report in the coming days, but that will have to wait until the pics can be downloaded, some sleep and recovery for my poor body can be found, and I can get my head wrapped around my thoughts.

Looking forward to catching up with you all!