I am home. Walked in the door about half an hour ago. Jay was lovely enough to come and pick me up from the airport. I've dragged my case up the stairs and started to process of unpacking.
The trip back was far less fraught than the trip over. The 16-hour flight from Paris to Perth was fine - good even. I selected a seat up the back on the Dreamliner which meant I only had one person next to me on the full flight, and a heap of legroom. One and a half series were consumed on the way over (Happy Face is really enjoyable, and I caught up on And Just Like That... Thank goodness Carrie got rid of Aiden)
Then there was a four hour stop over in Perth. This too was fine, but I've been muddling up my languages. I prefer speaking French. I sound better speaking French. Bonjour sounds so much better than G'day.
A trip to the Qantas Club meant I got to have a shower, a coffee and a toasted sandwich. Qantas Club toasted sandwiches are the bomb.
Then a three-and-a-half-hour flight back to Melbourne. Again, unremarkable.
And now I'm home. With a lot of dirty clothes. And tidbits for people. And the only food in the house is eggs and bread. Why is it when you get back from holidays and you end up having peanut paste and jam on toast for dinner?
But as I've only had the odd nap over the last 24 hours, I think it's time for bed. The washing and organising can wait until tomorrow.
I'm not sure if P & K are going to return my cat. They've loved having him. K's said he's put on some weight - if he's eating, that's good.
And the job hunting starts in earnest on Monday.
But I'm home. Happy and grateful.
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