All is Well on the Western Front

I just returned from picking my big brother up from Heathrow airport which [still] has inadequate parking, too few arrivals screens and a heady aroma - a mixture of coffee and carpet cleaner (which gave me a headache a record 5 minutes into my hour long wait for Big Bro to get through the custom controls).

I collected him and couldn't take my eyes off him - that's what it's like whe you live thousands of miles from your kin - you soak in every detail when you see them as though it were your last (or first - whatever). He looks really good. No older than last time I saw him; more tanned; plenty relaxed (turns out that was the bourbon on the plane to be honest) and totally wired to be in the UK. It made me wonder, I've gotta tell you, what the hell he thought when he saw his little sister grinning like a mental patient at the arrivals gate...baby on hip, "handbag"* spilling out all over the shiny white floor, hollow eyes from too little sleep and hair two days past it's "wash-by date"; vying for a place near the railing to shout "babe, babe over here babe!"...

How is living in the UK taking it's toll on me so hard that he looks younger than me I ask you?! (he's got seven years on me!).

Last year I was in September drizzle in Perth, WA. Even in the rain, the streets were paved with possibilities. Cut to September, England this year, the rain lifts the stink from the filthy pavements to my nostrils whilst my [curly] hair goes frizzy before I have even unlocked the car.

My aussie work visa can't come soon enough.

* who am I kidding? Handbag? It was a baby sling crammed with nappies, wipes, wallet, keys and enough toys to keep Hamleys in stock for a week (all of this for the walk fron the car to Arrivals).