Surfin' Devon-aaaay

I think surfing might be my new calling. Since I can remember I've had a bit of a fear of large expanses of open water, and this has been coupled with a major 'Big Jessie'-ishness about getting into cold water. But again, I'm over all that nonsense, and since we have been holidaying on the doorstep of two of Devonshire's finest surfy hotspots, I felt compelled to give it ago.

Batting away the ridicule from my family I hired a wetsuit and a body-board (let's start slowly) and skipped off down to the shore. Gnarly. I ignored the coldness, and boy was it freezamondo, and just ran/lurched into the surf, Croyd had some fantastic waves and it didn't take long to be submerged. My feet were painfully cold for about 5 minutes, but the rest of me actually felt toasty warm in my fetching wetsuit (I think they're a little bit sexy?). The bay was pleasingly full of gnarly surf-dudes and I realised my new venture had an secondary interest level.

The waves came thick and fast and it was knackering, working my way out a bit before I was carried straight back in on a crest. Well, kind of. It felt great; exhilarating and as though I knew exactly what I was doing - but I'm sure it looked a little like floundering. After about 30 minutes I heard an announcement from the lifeguards van and involving the words 'rip tide'. Looking up I realised I had drifted a long way down the bay, and then I noticed two figures leaping up and down on the sand and generally behaving in quite a loopy manner. Aha - Mum and Dad. I made a bit of a note to self to make my next surfing trip one without les parentals. Bless their hearts. So I waded out and that was it for Day One of new surfing hobby.

But it's given me a bit of a bug and back I went today - of course, just my luck, we had bit of a mill-pond situation in both Woolacombe and Croyd. 'Flat as a witch's tit' said my brother. But I was determined to follow it through, so I hired the kit again and spent an hour bobbing about, with a light paddle every now and again. I think I caught one wave. Lots of disappointed gnarly dudes bobbed alongside me in the stillness and there were several pointless lessons going on. Some were just having lessons in bobbing.

However - I have several friends who love surfing too, and now I know that hopping into freezing British waters isn't half so bad when you're encased head to toe in rubber, there will definitely be more trips planned. Certainly if I've anything to do with it. The only downside was no feeling in either foot for an hour or so after I'd towelled off, but - hey, no pain no gain.

Surf's most definitely up!

To my Successor.......

The 'handover notes' I wrote from Guest #1 to Guests #2 and 3............ during my 13 hour stop in Philadelphia.

To My Successor,

Welcome to LA! If you are reading this, you have bravely battled through volcanic ash to visit your boyfriend who is currently ‘working’ in LA. Nice one – I hope your journey out here hasn’t been quite as long or as sleep deprived as mine is likely to be getting home. I’m typing from Philadelphia at the moment, waiting 12 hours for my connecting flight to Madrid where I shall be trying to get into the UK by hook or by crook or by donkey.

So – I have been the very lucky guest of Deloitte consultant, Mr W, and have spent a truly wonderful 2 weeks on holiday at the 5 star luxury SLS Hotel, located on La Cienega Boulevard, Beverly Hills. How totally uber-glam does that sound? UBER. You will love it there, but there are a few things you must know about the place, and indeed the experience as a whole:

1) On arrival at the hotel you will no doubt be knackered and overwhelmed. Albeit a stunning place to reside, the dim lighting, wall-to-wall mirrors and large metal animals adorned with flowers and fruit at the SLS should not freak you out too much, but it’s possibly best to be aware of them in advance. First impressions are it’s a bit like going through the mirrored curtain thing in the film The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, but just roll with it, because it’s just the sleep deprivation talking, and soon enough you’ll be tucked snugly into the biggest and comfiest bed you’ve ever laid your weary body in.

2) Dinner on your first night will no doubt be in Bazaar – the hotel restaurant. Be prepared to be blown away by the tiniest yet tastiest food you’ve ever eaten. There will be small parcels of delightfulness brought to you by the friendliest waitress on the planet, and do not be alarmed by the insubstantial-sounding air bread dish – it’s a taste sensation. Size zero will be within your reach in no time.

3) Or so you think until you meet the rest of the Deloitte crew. The team consists of Sam, Henry and James. One of these you will probably already know intimately – the others you will get to know extremely well, have huge amounts of laughter with and be gutted to have to say goodbye to at the end of your trip. Try not to cry when this happens – it’s well not cool. It’s also unlikely to be the last time you say goodbye, if my attempts to leave are anything to go by – you will soon get blasé about saying farewell. The Boys have one thing in common (other than a fairly lackadaisical approach to work) and this is a total love of food and eating out. You will be spoilt for choice, fed endlessly and need to buy bigger pants by the end of your trip. Embrace it.

4) It is very likely, in fact almost a certainty, that you will be offered at least one threesome whilst you sit poolside, minding your own business, fresh off the plane. Normal procedure is; one by one a couple of drunken female spring-break students will approach you and ask to borrow sun-cream. They will probably then discuss you loudly with their aged male companion and exclaim how hot you are. Next, a glass of pink champagne will be delivered over by one of your friendly poolside waiters on their behalf, and before you know it you’ve been hoodwinked into joining them on the three loungers in the coldest pool. You will feel exceptionally uncomfortable at first. The drunkest and highest spring-breaker will then probably offer you the opportunity to sleep with her. If this fails she will try and entice you to a threesome. Finally a last attempt to get you to ditch your boyfriend and hotfoot it out to Las Vegas for some drugs will be thrown at you. Be strong and resist, unless you’re braver and cooler than me – in which case, fill your boots.

5) Be aware that one of the pools is significantly and ball-breakingly colder than the other. You’ll quickly work out which, especially if you go through the whole threesome/Las Vegas invite rigmarole.

6) The hotel staff are lovely, but wiley. They will take advantage of your newness and confuse you with payment methods until you probably find yourself paying about 4 times for each dish you have. Normal procedure is to sign for what you order so it’s charged to the room. Then hand over your credit card and try wherever possible to pay in cash too. This will be mistaken for a huge tip, and unwittingly you will become the waiter’s new best mate. However, you will still not be taken advantage of quite so much as Henry with his $195 dollar washing bill and $50 for 2 poached eggs, so this might bring small comfort.

7) Your days will be hectic – first thing, you get passed the newspaper as your Deloitte host pops off to ‘work’ and after few cups of delicious and free* coffee you will hit the pool, bikini/speedos donned for 8 hours of serious lolling/reclining. Your evenings will be diverse, entertaining, and will often incorporate a gay Melbournian.

8) Do not expect to choose your own wine at dinner. When the waitress asks you what you’d like, briefly yet pointlessly study the menu and wait for Henry to order you a Pinot Noir. Give him his due though – the man knows his wine.

9) If you are female, and dither more than about 30 seconds over what to choose to eat, the waitress will, by default, bring you a tasteless iceburg lettuce salad. This will be sold to you as the tastiest and most incredible salad that mankind has ever known – but make no mistake - it will taste pap.

10) Be prepared to have to discuss for hours on end alternative words for the ‘vagina’. James seems to know the most. Sam knows just the one – the most offensive one. He’ll use it loudly and freely wherever you are. I had the misfortune to witness the birth of a new one – the ‘gunt’. The Boys will explain to you exactly what this is – I can’t bring myself to type it.

11) No-one is particularly confident on the roads (I’m glad I’m not present whilst they read this bit), but just strap yourself in and enjoy the erratic swerving and dithering to the sound of the pronunciation of road names by the electronic American bird on the SatNav. Get Henry to do his impression of her saying ‘La Cienega Boulevard’ roughly every 3 minutes throughout every evening – you will be in stitches.

12) Try to ensure that you are picked up at the airport by the brightest yellow, tiniest, fastest convertible corvette on the planet. This will mainly be easiest if you’re going out with Sam. If you’re not, try and persuade Henry or James to borrow it for the occasion. The forward thrust will do weird things to your stomach but you’ll find it massively exhilarating. Try to cover the fact you are very impressed by calling it ‘ridiculous’ or ‘pointless’ and moan loudly about your suitcase not fitting in the boot. Then sit back and secretly love the entire experience.

13) Do not forget to make copious notes throughout each dinner. You will be expected to give rigorous and lengthy feedback on any meal eaten. Any attempts to try and include ‘ambiance’ or ‘conversation’ in your findings will be dismissed as girly/gay/too much like a date night – but push on through and soon enough you’ll get your way.

14) Have a love of spreadsheets and/or chat about spreadsheets.

15) If a last minute mini break to San Francisco in a (possibly even more incredible) hotel is not forthcoming at least 4 days after you’ve arrived, demand a refund and get a better boyfriend.

16) Brush up on your tour guide skills with immediate effect, and adapt seamlessly to pretending to know a city you’ve never been to or read about before. If possible take the boys up as many exceptionally steep hills as you can. It’s the only thing that’s shut them up in two whole weeks. Joking, lads, JOKING.

17) Do not stand too close to Sam if he has Mexican food for breakfast.

18) Learn how to add value.

19) Find a machine which assists you in adding value.

20) Learn what adding value means.

21) Then learn what adding value means in the world of whatever it is Sam, James & Henry do.

22) Pretend you understand what the feck Sam, Henry or James do every day from about 10am until 2pm (which seem to be the standard LA working hours).

*The coffee being free depends on several factors; including the type of cup it’s poured into, the location from which you drink it, and the day of the week it is. If you pour it directly into a paper cup at reception – its free. If you are served it from a china cup whilst sitting in the breakfast lounge on a Tuesday – it’s $8. From a paper cup, served poolside on a Tuesday – free. Paper cup, poolside on a Wednesday - $4. Paper cup, poolside on a Thursday - $8. Milk is not milk, it’s half and half which is like single cream. Cream is like double cream and hardens the arteries in seconds. Stay sharp when it comes to the coffee. If they pour it directly into your mouth, you earn money. Terms & conditions apply.

23) Do not expect to be left alone poolside for any longer than about 10 minutes. Be prepared to be drawn into lengthy bouts of listening to some LA-wannabe who has more money than sense bang on about how uber-cool they are. Agree with them, but rest safe in the knowledge that they’re really a bit of a twat.

24) Don’t talk to anyone who wears coloured contact lenses.

25) Marvel at the fake boobs on display around the pool, and don’t get testy when the boys discuss them in front of you, or even give them marks out of ten. In fact, join in – they’re hilarious.

26) You will notice one of aforementioned fake-boobed women is a regular at the SLS, put your biggest shades on and watch her cavort with fat, balding, unpleasant old rich man after fat, balding, unpleasant old rich man.

27) Start compiling a list of Henry’s likes and dislikes. You will need a LOT of paper for this.

28) Sam loves mushrooms and squid – make sure you demand these as part of every meal.

29) Be patient when James inevitably takes you to the beach to watch him surf (we all wanted to go, honest). Do not spend too long negotiating the ‘it’s time to come out of the water’ signal – he won’t be looking for it and will be too busy conversing with gnarly surf dudes amongst the breakers to acknowledge the three idiots on the beach jumping up and down like mentalists in a vain effort to try and get his attention.

30) Get Henry on the jalapeno martinis at your earliest opportunity. Three should be enough after wine with dinner. Sit back and be entertained. Do not expect him to be up for work the next day and leave him with very easy access to the bathroom, on his own.

31) Make the most of Concierge Casey. He is so helpful he will escort you to the restaurant of your choice (or ‘announce your arrival’ there) after lengthy advice on your selected destination and countless printouts of slightly confusing and occasionally conflicting directions. Love him – he loves you already and he hasn’t even met you yet.

32) Be aware of the difference between freshwater eels and saltwater eels. Freshwater eels are eels which are from, fresh water. Saltwater eels are eels which originate from water which is the ocean. Important, pertinent inside info.

33) Try and get a volcano in northern Europe to start erupting a few days before you have to fly home. It will almost certainly buy you nearly a further week on this trip of a lifetime and you will be the lucky recipient of about 4 leaving parties.

Ok. I think that should do it. Rest assured you are going to have an amazing time with three of the loveliest, kindest and gentlemanly guys you have ever had the good fortune to meet.

Over to you………………………………

Beverly Hills and Brittany Ferries

So here is a story of two, quite different halves…..one of which at the time I wished was not happening to me, now, looking back I am very glad I was part of such a crazy event. My story begins on a ferry, heading for Portsmouth........

Pinot noir does not taste the same on a Brittany ferry as it does in Beverly Hills, LA. Fact. It looks very much the same, granted, but it comes in a sub-standard generic ‘ten for a fiver’ wine glass rather than the beautiful crystal goblets I have recently become accustomed to and it doesn’t pack quite the same punch.

I believe I might be becoming high maintenance. Generally I would have always said I prefer roughing it to living it up. Since a crazy round the world trip involving a stint of volunteering in the jungle a couple of years ago I had become an enthusiastic advocate of sleeping in a basha, washing in a river, making friends with the mossies. Now I’ve had a taste of crazy uber-glam LA five star lifestyle – I wonder if I could be persuaded to renounce the deet and the roughing it forever?
Could I?

This trip has been crazily memorable from start to finish. The story really began in London where I met a boy. One of those situations where you’re having an immense amount of old-fashioned fun and there is no need to ask any questions. And the next thing I know, I am faced with a crazy and somewhat unbelievable invitation to join this boy on a work trip to LA. I seriously never thought it would really happen. The LA talk began a few weeks into our dating, and I merely thought ‘this is just big talk and it's happening way too early’. I sat tight, let the discussions of the impending trip mainly wash over my head and bid him farewell when the call came for him to jet out to Hollywood. I honestly thought that’d be the last I’d see of him for a long while. Until I was emailed an e-ticket a couple of weeks later with my name on it. Heathrow, UK to Los Angeles, America.

Jesu Christo.

Taxiing down the Angelean runway I had butterflies to rival only those I’d experienced when I set off on my solo round the world trip. What if it all went wrong? What if we didn’t get on? What if it was all some massive April Fool and I was here alone? I pushed the negative thoughts from my mind as the boy and I texted each other with regards to actually meeting up. I was to look for a bright yellow convertible corvette outside the airport. Used to circumnavigating the globe (yeah, I know that sounds precocious) I was not ready for the chaos in my head and my heart when I arrived in LA. Firstly, everything was a little confusing as most people seemed to be speaking in Korean which was unexpected, and LA security dudes loomed large, stroking the guns on their hips. Gulp.

I finally made it through security and customs – every question felt like an accusation and I stammered my responses about my reason for being in LA - a holiday in Beverly Hills (even as I said it, I didn’t even believe myself). A final ‘have a nice day sweetie’ and I was booted out into the sunshine, scouring the surroundings for my hired ride. I’d been warned about the car and was pre-embarrassed about the sheer over-the-top ‘look at me’ ish-ness of it. Trying to hide the fact that I was majorly excited about actually getting into it and even more so about actually seeing this person I suppressed my real feelings about the situation by totally dissing the vehicle and generally being quite stand offish. This is often how I roll.

We roared off into the Californian sunshine - my stomach was left to catch up in its own time – and I shivered from tiredness, excitement and nervousness. Firstly we filled the hungry car with petrol and then we screeched into the Beverly Hills SLS Hotel. Jesus, Mary and Joseph what a place. A scurry of neatly dressed gentlemen fussing around for my luggage and a barrage of uber-politeness at reception, and I was whisked up to see the room. Didn’t I say I’d always wanted to be whisked? Whisking was definitely happening here, and it felt incredible.

My first impressions of this accommodation were difficult to describe. I was over-whelmed, there was no doubt about it and 24 hours without sleep had leant a kind of surreal quality to my vision. That, coupled with very dim ‘mood’ lighting and wall to wall mirrors made it difficult to know what to focus on. The boy was brilliant and basically said let’s get you fed and then put to bed. I was not arguing with either of these. In fact I didn’t seem to have any words at all – usually a steady flow of chat un-stemmed, on this occasion I was fairly mute.

My first meal in Bazaar, the SLS restaurant, was an amazing preview of the diverse gourmet experiences to come. A fine selection of asian fusion ‘tapas’ was brought before me, ranging from perfectly rare hangar steak, to melt in the mouth sushi to thai-inspired guacamole and tuna dim sums and an egg shell filled with delicious frothy…….well, froth. Tiny little dishes, yet seriously satisfying. Breakfast the following morning did not disappoint either (always my favourite meal of the day) and it arrived in the form of the most perfect eggs benedict (again, they did the frothy thing with the egg whites, they cook the yolks separately then pour on the air-whipped whites) with a side order of sour dough toast, cherry jam and orange blossom marmalade. HEAVEN.

Not forgetting the coffee of course. Coffee has become a real necessity in my life – who’d have thought that a non-alcoholic drink could be so enjoyable? There’s the social aspect of it which I love as well – I could very happily lose a day to coffee in a cosy lounge-style café. I’ve been really lucky and have sampled grounds from all over the world – and I intend to carry on my studies for a long time to come. On this first morning however, I got myself into a bit of a pickle with the stuff. I had it on pretty reliable authority that the coffee in reception was free. Yet once again (Jane and I’d stumbled upon this issue in Sydney) it all depended on which cup you had it served in. I’d found the correct urn, with a little ‘complimentary’ sign propped up against it – but my error was pouring it into the china cup which was on the table where I ate. I hadn’t noticed the Starbucks-style paper cups aside the urn, and this meant that $12 found its way onto the bill. Lesson learned.

Apart from the double-charging issue. I wanted to pay cash for breakfast and was determined not to put anything on the room tab, yet they brought me a little slip of paper to sign as well which I duly did. This ended up meaning that they took my cash as a whopping big tip (and ignored the fact that it was spookily the exact cost of breakfast) and also charged the meal to the room. You gotta stay sharp when it comes to payment procedures round here. It was possibly due to my disorientation, but it felt that the staff had taken advantage of my newness a little. I like to think it wasn't because I'm stupid.

So. The rooftop pool. What a place that was! Sunloungers in the pool. Four-poster beds around the pool. A myriad lovely waiters asking me if I was ok every 20 minutes or so. And, most amazingly a view of the Hollywood sign from one corner. Seriously, how glamourous? I found myself an optimum lounger and settled into contentment, feeling the morning Californian sun warming my skin. Questions kept zipping around my consciousness, ‘How has this happened? Why am I here?’ I didn’t get it then, I certainly don’t get it now – I do not know really why I was invited on this holiday. Within approximately ten minutes of stretching out on the gloriously comfortable sun bed I was accosted by an American spring-break student. Immediately I felt intimidated – I could tell the girl (and her two friends) were not only drunk but high as well. They wanted me to sit with them and share pink champagne. Oh, go on then. I accepted a glass of bubbly, but I was wary. The guy was say, 40 years old and the two girls were, how can I phrase it? About 19 years old and mentally unhinged’ll cover it. They wanted to know if a) I was interested in a threesome and b) did I want to ditch my friend and go to Las Vegas with them for a weekend at Coachella Festival? Oh God, neither, thanks. I stuck it out for maybe thirty minutes, then when Drunk Spring Breaker #2 started getting a little close for comfort I scurried off to the seclusion of our hotel room balcony and enjoyed a little peace in the relentlessly searing sun.

Further days by the pool were not quite as eventful as that first one, but there was always someone to watch or something to listen to which caused my eyes to goggle on stalks or my ears to blush. It’s all true – the stuff you read about in Heat Magazine – the Los Angeleans are kerrRRRAZY. I loved it, and I definitely felt privileged to be there, it was somewhere I never expected to visit, yet there was something which didn’t sit quite right, something indefinable. I don’t know whether it was something to do with the ridiculous levels of excess – in every way. When you’ve lived in a tiny community in the jungle, where the inhabitants have to wash in the river and supplies of food are never guaranteed it’s hard to be totally comfortable with paying £6 for a simple coffee.

But I loved being in that Hotel….. how many people get the run of a place like that? State of the art gym, amazing restaurants, beautiful décor (apart from the large metal animals bearing fruit – including a pig in the coldest pool with a tray on its head – odd) and the comfiest bed I think I’ve ever slept in. We settled into a nice little routine, the boy disappeared off to work at about 7.30am, handing me the morning paper with its superbly difficult crossword which I puzzled over at brekkie before hitting the loungers for a Vitamin D fix. Until Thursday, when I received an email asking me what I fancied doing at the weekend. Would I like to visit San Francisco? Jeezy Chreezy – a mini break within a holiday – what the hecky feck was going on? A couple of hours later and everyone (me, the boy & two of his colleagues) had their flights confirmed, we were off to The City.

The first evening was a pretty awesome meal in Salt and some hotel-worshipping (mainly by me) – the St. Regis was possibly even nicer than the SLS, and the view from our bedroom (we had a suite, don’t you know) was more than impressive. On floor 17 it felt as though you were living amongst the sky scrapers – and from every window there was just a huge array of skyscrapers, all vying to reach highest into the Californian sky. Day One of San Fran was a full-on sightseeing day. We started at Pier 39 and meandered around the Farmer’s Market, experiencing the diversity of choice for breakfast (me: custard and blueberry danish-pastry, Sam: fiery hot Mexican fajitas – cue everyone having to give him a wide berth for an hour or so). Next it was the ferry to Sausalito via the threatening-looking island of Alcatraz – we decided against actually going in, I don’t think any of us fancied a claustrophobic visit to the cells, which apparently is an option. They shut the door behind you for a bit so you can get a proper idea of how it feels to be imprisoned. No, thank you.

It was in San Francisco that I learned the true magic of the extensiveness of the American brunch. It’s like its own separate universe, and one that I definitely love and admire. In Sausalito we scouted about for somewhere to shelter for a while (the weather was being traditionally San Franciscan – cold, wet and windy – so us Brits felt nicely at home) and happened upon a little diner where brunch was definitely an art form. Pancakes and waffles and apple-smoked crispy bacon, eggs any way you wanted them with gloriously american descriptions; ‘sunny-side up’ and ‘over easy’, French toast and hash-browns, sausages, home-fries and bottomless coffee pots (hello my friend). And, what’s this doing on my plate? An orange quarter. How very random and out of place, and unnecessarily healthy. We all left the fruit.

Back out into the cold we ferried it back to the mainland and decided on a nice walk to encourage the cholesterol we’d just ingested to move around the system a bit. Sam (I can’t call him ‘the boy’ anymore – it feels too Carrie-esq a la Sex & the City) had chosen a Lonely Planet suggested tour and nominated me City-guide. I negated to mention my navigationally-challenged status amongst my friends, grabbed the book and ordered the guys to follow me. It was a long and hilly affair but we really saw San Francisco in all it's (quite European-feeling) glory. I loved it a lot more than LA – it’s a cosier and more approachable city, easier to negotiate crossing the roads and more opportunity for engaging with the locals.

After numerous hills; Russian, Telegraph...... Nob, we needed a sit down and a drink. There was an element of ‘losing the will to live’ by the time we settled upon the Gold Dust Lounge for refreshment. It sounded a lot more exciting than it was, plus it seemed to smell quite strongly of vomit so we didn’t stay long and soon headed back to the Hotel for a quick spa dip before dinner at Chez Panisse in Berkeley – apparently the 49th best restaurant in the world (at its peak it was 13th best). I think its fair to say that night we all got pretty drunk. Such a funny night though – and Henry kept us majorly entertained with his different accents, Ali G and the gay Melbournian two of his best. The latter backfired slightly, when on queuing for the loo he was overheard by a fellow restaurant goer who commented, and he ended up having to have a whole conversation in the accent. We all shared and tasted each other’s food that night and discussed their rating system for the restaurants that they had visited on this 'work' trip. By the end of the night it had been decided that the guests were allowed an input (that was me, James’ girlfriend and Henry’s boyfriend – both due out forimminent visits). In return the guys were going to rate the guests. All very daft, but at the time, hilarious.

So the following morning was a little arduous on the waking-up front. A tinge of a hangover perhaps? But only the sort you get from drinking a lot of excellent quality wine. What was I saying about feeling weird about all this excess and luxury? Ahem. A quick peek behind the electronically raised curtains brought the visual information of heavy rain. So we skipped straight into Mel’s Diner for an EVEN BETTER brunch than yesterdays. This time the oddly placed bit of fruit on the plate was a slice of pineapple (DELETE!). We put our own tunes on the jukebox and envied Henry’s peanut-butter milkshake, whilst I absent mindedly scanned the room for a defibrillator.

After that we waddled out into the wintry weather and tried to do a little more sight-seeing. A very angry tram-conductor took massive offence when Henry climbed over a seat instead of going round the vehicle, and there was a bit of a stand-off as he at first wanted Henry off the tram. This reduced us all to a silent trip in the streetcar (not named desire, rather more ‘contrition’). We tolerated the horizontal freezing rain down by the harbour for as long as it took to remark ‘oh yes, sealions’ – that might sound random, but the massive beasts are a real San Franciscan tourist-attraction and they haul themselves out of the water onto the wooden docks where they lie making a huge fracas and smelling bad. Numbers have apparently swelled to 1700 in the past, but we must have seen only around 50 or so. We finally admitted defeat, no-one was really enjoying being so cold and wet and we returned to the St. Regis for a wonderful afternoon nap in our cosy luxury hotel retreat.

That evening, it was my leaving do – the following day I was to be heading back to the UK and this meant I got to have a party. James, sushi-expert, had booked the wonderful Slanted Door restaurant as the venue. Actually I think this is the finest meal I have ever had in my entire life. Ever. Delectable wine, gorgeous asian-fusion sushi (to which I am now entirely addicted) and some impressive examples of cosmetically enhanced women to gander at. And by the end of this meal, under the influence of some seriously lovely vino blanco, it had kind of been decided I was going to stay a little longer than originally planned. In hindsight, was this a good idea? Probably not, for at least three reasons I can think of, but in a funny way, I’m glad I did.

By the time our silly o-clock flight out of San Fran back to LA (God, I am so international) took off I’d been on the phone to BA and my return to Heathrow had been extended by 2 days. How amazing! Going back to the SLS felt like coming home (in a parallel universe) and that evening instead of having to pack my case, I found some nearby tennis courts and Sam and I went for a hit in the scorching sunshine. Of course, I won every game we played. San Francisco had been fabulous but it was certainly nice to get back to blue skies and warmth. And Casey our Crazy Concierge. Later that evening we hopped into the crazy yellow bat mobile and searched out the famous Hollywood sign – that was brilliant. A bit of traffic-dodging was required as to get the best pictures you have to stand in the middle of the road and we took some funny snaps of us both looking like dorks in front of such an iconic monument. Ok, I looked like a dork.

So - Wednesday, and a second leaving do! Very sweetly I was given venue-choosing rights as I was yet again being said farewell to, so predictably it was more melt in the mouth sushi, and the longer I was staying the less I wanted to leave. We were just having so much fun and everything was such an event. Although arriving at this restaurant was very different to all the others – usually we either had our arrival ‘announced’ to restaurant staff by Concierge Casey, and when we arrived there would be an element of flustered ‘red-carpet’ like treatment as we were ushered to an appropriate table. This place was different. The 3 staff in reception all ignored us for, what? About five minutes? And then there was a bit of a silent stand-off before finally one of them just said ‘yes, can I help you?’ In the manner you might expect a policeman to speak to you if you’d just done something bad. Weird – the outstanding and often over-the-top customer service was part of what makes America, and I think we all suddenly felt as though we’d stumbled through a door directly back into the UK, where waiters look at you as though you are there purely to piss them off.

During the course of this evening, the boys rated me as a Guest – and I seemed to score pretty well in areas which ranged from conversation skills to the ability to stand cold and wet weather without complaint, and of course flying colours for my wardrobe choices.. Sam and I were confident that I might win the title of ‘Guest of the Year’. I’ll never know.

Eventually it was time to actually pack and get ready to return to planet normal, and it was with a heavy heart I folded my bikinis into my case. But, a quick peak at emails revealed an odd message from home. A volcano had erupted in Iceland! Eyjafjallajoekull (easy for you to say) was spewing out ash over northern Europe, and all airspace over the UK had been closed – no flights were getting in. Wowzers this is weird. I checked the BA website and sure enough, my flight was cancelled. Conflicting reports were getting through via various friends and family members, but the long and the short of it was, I was stuck. And suddenly, for some reason I felt a very long way from home. Maybe I imagined it, maybe not (I have finally decided that my gut instinct is rarely wrong) but it felt very much time to be gone, and for reasons completely out of my control, I couldn’t go anywhere. When Sam got home from work we went to Sprinkles for some award-winning cupcakes, and it should have been something to get excited about, but I felt totally flat. When we returned to the Hotel Sam hit the internet and doggedly searched for flights to get me back. The journey was finally sorted – LA to Philadelphia, then onto Madrid. He figured that being in Europe was better than being in the States. Ridiculously I felt adrift and confused – I was usually so happy to be on a journey, any journey, but this felt like heading into an unknown situation where nothing at all was guaranteed.

Once we’d set the new intinerary I had my third leaving do – quite a tame night at a Spanish restaurant, although the food was of course, delicious, everyone was fairly sleepy and we hit the hay at midnight. The following day was a bit of a road trip mission to find a gnarly surfy beach for Sam’s colleague James to dip his wetsuit in – once we’d found brunch I was already happy enough (this one came complete with bilberry syrup which made the French toast taste like jam donuts so I was in heaven) and didn’t really care where we went or what we did. We’d headed for the OC (Orange County) and were all fairly underwhelmed by the apparent bleakness of it. Where were the lithe tanned and toned hotties? We were all after some eye candy, but none was forthcoming and all we managed to find were fat Mexican kids or fat old people. Someting was wrong. It was depressing more than anything. We settled in the Bluewater Grill for some ‘hotter than hellfire’ Bloody Marys and then when we couldn’t stand the heat any longer we went back to part of the beach which had the biggest waves. A brief and pointless negotiation with James on how we’d notify him we were bored/cold/ready to leave – basically by simulating the international distress signal (a la Team America) and we sat amongst the crazy dogs, underneath dangerous looking rocks (some of which had apparently collapsed onto the sand that very morning) trying in vain to look for James ‘hanging ten’. We stood it out for about an hour and were all pretty happy when he waded out of the surf so we could all get back into the nice warm wagon.

I began to get my first serious pangs of not wanting to leave on the drive home – there seemed to be nothing further standing in my way, I had to leave this fantasy life and return to normality. And communication with Sam had pretty much dwindled to zero. On the way to the airport I hid a tear or two behind my massive LA shades, I sure didn't want to have to explain them - I didn't think I even could if I'd been asked.

So 6 hrs LA to Philadelphia was easy enough, and the 12 hours I had to wait there passed happily enough with a massive breakfast, a book of crosswords and chatting (at length) to a Maltese guy who was going through a divorce and custody-crisis (Lordy). Philadelphia to Madrid, another 6 hrs was also smooth, and it was on landing in Europe that the real homesickness began to take hold. Yes, I’m a seasoned traveler – but I had absolutely no idea really of where to go or how I’d get back into the UK – with all airspace in our country still shut, the only option was via land. Having been looked after so well in LA, I was suddenly very much adrift. My Easyjet Madrid to Bristol had of course been canceled, and all I managed to illicit from the staff at Madrid airport were varying degrees of shoulder height in their unresponsive shrugs.

I quickly got a grip and against all advice from my family, booked myself onto a bus to Santander. Only a couple of days ago I’d never heard of the place, now I knew that it was a hub for ferry crossings to Plymouth and Portsmouth. Varying conflicting reports were getting through to me ranging from ‘there will be no ferries until Saturday’ (it was Monday) to ‘the Royal Navy will be there to personally get you’. I couldn't rely on option 2 no matter how enticing it sounded, and it felt better to just keep moving so that’s what I decided to do. It was then I then bumped into the Hart family who were on their way back from a safari in Africa with three young daughters, and they kind of scooped me up. I really needed scooping by then. Distractedly chewing on a salami sandwich - the first food I'd had in hours and hours, I was not at my most chipper. Lucy and Andrew Hart said I was welcome to tag along with them, and the three kids' excitment about missing more school was infectious and distracted me from my immediate predicament. The coach from Madrid to Santander was uneventful and I drifted in and out of quite a deep sleep induced by pure necessity. I awoke halfway through by a shouting Spanish lady - her face very close to mine, and even though I had no idea what she was saying, the general drift was ‘get off the feckin’ bus IMMEDIATELY’, so I did. Thirty minutes of ricocheting around the little local shops later and we were back on, heading in to Santander.

Which to be honest looked like a pretty nice place to be, but La Famille Hart decided our best bet was to head straight for the ferry port to try and get on the mahoosive boat which was champing at the bit, harbourside. Some frustrating queuing, deflecting of pushers in and some serious ‘we’re British and stranded and this girl is on her own (everyone pointed at me in a mock-outaged comedy-fashion)’ negotiations saw us taking the very last seats on board. And then, dear God – my debit card didn’t work. I couldn’t buy my ticket. The Spanish lady looked at me with a ‘I can’t help you anymore’ stare and I fought back frustration. Daddy Hart slapped down his credit card on the counter and it bought my ticket. So - I was literally the last passenger on board, they booted me on and slammed a door behind me. I felt like personally hugging the captain (anything to get up close and personal with a man in uniform).

I found a bit of a base to dump my bags, there was unfortunately no cabin left for me, and I went in search of internet connection. Spotting a suitable plug I asked the family who had commanded the area as their own if I could perch for a while so I could log on and make contact with home and Sam. The father rudely told me the space was taken, and that was it – the tears came. It was exhaustion really, but coupled with an overwhelming pang of utter loneliness. This immediately afforded me space on their sofa and offers of tissues and sandwiches and help, which I fended off. I hadn’t turned on the waterworks on purpose but it did the trick nonetheless.

The 25 hours on that ferry were soul destroying ones. If I hadn’t already thought this, I would never choose ferry as a method of transport again, I think I’d rather row or swim. I had a couple of expensive yet disappointing solitary meals and watched a couple of crappy and depressing films – but really this is all just part of the big adventure of travelling. Without the lows when you just want to weep, you don’t appreciate the highs when you want to tell the world how much you love it and its occupants.
I only saw the Hart family again once – to repay them for my ticket once I managed to get cash out from the exchange counter on board, but I really wish I’d taken their address down as they kind of rescued me and without them I wouldn’t have been on that ferry. They live in Surrey, that’s all I know – if anyone reading this knows them, please get in touch.

As for me and the boy? (Sod it, I’m gonna go with the Carrie thing). Funnily enough, ties were cut as soon as I hit British soil – and I think my subconscious had known that was going to happen and that’s part of what made the journey home even worse. I will never fathom guys out. Why go through all the rigmarole of inviting someone on a trip like that when you don’t really give a monkeys? But, no matter, because this has been my most important penny. And I’m very glad it’s finally dropped. It doesn’t matter how glamorous the trip you get to go on, or how fast the car you get whizzed around in, or how gourmet the meals you are taken out for……….. if the love ain’t there, it don’t mean a thang. And for once in my life I was perfectly happy to simply walk away and move on. And that, my friends, is definitely progress.

Ginger Fudge made with Clotted Cream

Sounds a bit hardcore doesn't it? But its incredible stuff. And yesterday we found ginger scones with clotted cream. The general theme seems to be clotted cream with everything and a pleasing array of ginger-flavoured items in Lynmouth, Devon, where I am on holiday with my family. Its a taken a little while to get to a stage where I've been able to contemplate a whole week in close confinement of a cottage with the family - and in no way is this a slight against them - they are the loveliest family you could wish for. But it's more my ability to be able to give myself to them for a week. Difficult to explain why or how but it's as though I've been adjusting to something - a different state of being, and over the last year or so I think I've arrived where I need to be.

I think I know where it is I've come from, and I think I know the place I have arrived at - that being a happy single woman with a full and rewarding life. Since the upheaval years after being made redundant and my longterm relationship breaking down, all as I hit the big 3-0 I have experienced some very definable moments of 'penny-dropping' clarity. Where I have almost actually exclaimed out loud 'OH. I see'. Several of these were in the Borneo jungles but some of the major ones have been post-travel. After Raleigh, I spent a frenetic summer back at Wimbledon, and it was here I was hit by an overwhelming need to be back home, so I made the move to Bristol. I found a lovely little home with two girls Laura and Charlotte, and here clunked one of my life-pennies. For the next year I had a so-so job, but I worked hard to get myself somewhere a little more inspiring, somewhere voices are listened to, and ideas are creative, free-flowing and encouraged. My new working environment is stimulating, engaging and demanding and this feels like a physical relief. At times I find it really hard, but I know now that it is at these times that I actually start performing at a level I am satisfied with and this has just done crazy things for my confidence. A few weeks into this job, we're talking MAJOR PENNY CLANGING.

And actually, one of my next stories - the LA Story no less....... another penny moment. I believe I was about 36 hours into my journey home, on a 25 hour ferry ride from Santander, close to tears with tiredness and I realised that I was never ever going to make excuses or kid myself over a guy ever again. It was an important penny as well, that one.

And in three weeks I'm moving into my own little flat, this is massively exciting and I'm expecting another penny or two. One of my current flatmates doesn't seem to really understand my desire to live alone. Whether this is just something that comes naturally to most people with advancing age, or whether it's just that I really know I need my own space and am very content to be alone I am not sure. Possibly it has been borne out of necessity - along the way of the last 5 years I've begun to understand that I have to be prepared for the fact I may walk alone in life. Seeing this written down, at my own hand, would once have scared me witless - now it just gives me a sense of achievement and strength. If I can do it solo, then how cool is that? I like the feeling of not needing anyone else. Yes if someone comes along then obviously that will be far preferable, but if not - then I'm all set. If you get me.

I am alone now in fact and it's nice - La Famille Gaulton have gone off with baby Lulah-Rose for a rainy walk - all dressed in matching raincoats - we all bought the same purple macs yesterday in fits of giggles, hoping that the purchasing thereof would guarantee sunshine for the week. Not so, unfortunately. It's been a bit of a scramble to get the baby dressed and everyone adorned in wellies and kagools for a splash about. I was just keen for a bit of solitude and some writing time.

I'm in this gorgeous little country-cottage kitchen. With the Aga and Radio 2 for company, a cafetiere of coffee on the go and a bag of VERY EXPENSIVE but delectable fudge. Don't worry, I intend to go for a run later. Now I appear to be in training again for a Marathon. The ever inventive and adventurous Ms Beverley Salmon has suggested Nice to Cannes 26.2 on 14th November. I can't say I want to do it, or moreso the training, yet I can't say no to that woman. Damn it. And she can't sit still for more than about 5 minutes, which is probably why we make a good team. We're like two small excitable puppies, 'what next, what next?' I needed her here this morning - a twenty minute fight to assemble the cafetiere - getting increasingly frustrated at my inability to work out which bit fitted where, caffiene craving advancing with alarming velocity. She would totally have understood my pain as well, her views on coffee are similar to mine and we would both revolve a day around it. But she was always the practical one of our outfit and she'd have had the coffee pot together in a jiffy. I would have had loads of encouraging and supportive feedback about it - that was how we rolled in the jungle ;)

So I'm about to tell you a couple more stories of some recent trips - well I firstly took myself to Paris last summer, and in early 2010 I hilariously and unexpectedly went to Los Angeles. Both vacations deserve a spot on the t'interweb I feel. And I have that space right now to want to write - without the distractions of work, or the normalness of being at home - my creative side wakes up and the words start flowing down my arms again and out through my fingers.

Bula! Our Fiji Finale

Aah, Fiji.... beautiful Fiji. This is where Jane and I ended our travelling - and the words 'idyllic paradise' are really the only ones I can use to describe it.

I must admit, we had our reservations on arrival. To be fair, that we arrived alive at all was a bit of a surprise, as the pilot had clearly decided that to just drop out of the sky with maybe 100 feet still to go was the best way to touch down. Luckily at the time Jane and I were listening to 'Let's Dance' by 5ive on the Ipod and doing a sort of 'running man' type sitting-down dance so I didn't pay too much attention to the fact that we hurtled out of the sky and bunny-hopped down the runway.

As we landed in Nadi on the island of Viti Levu, the rain was drumming down in a distinctly 'this could last for quite some time' sort of a way. We were slightly nervous at the thought of spending ten days in such a place where really the only thing to do is recline in a hammock. Not forgetting reclining on a sun lounger of course, or even a on a lilo. But reclining was the key activity being promoted, and we were also severely lacking in funds. We had to make Fiji cheap. No problem.

No............real........... problem.

We made our way through arrivals and took delight in the little gaggle of swaying men wearing flowers round their necks and skirts, strumming on the guitar and singing us a tropical tune. A bit of an issue in baggage collection where I was informed that my Philippino pesos (the only money I had on me) could not be changed anywhere in Fiji so that somewhat left me scuppered with regards to cash. Thankfully Jane came to the rescue aided by Mastercard - thanks Jane!

Our backpackers lodging in Nadi was actually really very pleasant. When we got there it appeared that the owners had been waiting up specifically for us and us alone, so we were shown our room in double quick time and then left to it.

Waking up thankfully revealed nearly-blue skies which showed potential, and we enjoyed a poolside breakfast of toast and coffee with tropical fruits before setting off for a little exploration.
We didn't find that much, just a hammock on the edge of a fairly disappointing beach, but it was funny trying to fit the both of us in aforementioned hammock and we did a bit of self-photographing and filming which is always amusing in times of slight boredom. As we swung and contemplated the last leg of our journey, the rain returned in a big way so we scuttled back to shelter and watched a film in our poolside restaurant to pass some time.

Both being fairly avid fitness freaks we decided to not let a bit of torrential driving rain get in the way of a workout and we devised a short route for a run. Gradually we elongated it and it turned into a good 40 minute all-out training session. Not sure I've ever been that wet without being submerged in water, but it got the blood pumping and had the desired energising effect.

We then turned our attenion to shortening our stay in Fiji - both of us quietly thinking that ten days in the rain with nothing else to do apart from run might not be the perfect end to an amazing journey. A quick call to Qantas and our flights were brought forwards by a few days, giving us just a week to go. Even though we were both obviously happy to be in such a romantic destination, I think mentally we were also ready to get home and re-bond with our families and friends.

Neither of us wanted to spend much more time in uninspiring Nadi so we consulted the jolly lady on reception about an alternative place to visit. She recommended Walu Beach resort on Malolo Island - and the phrase 'much more sunshine' was all we needed to agree to it. The booking was made for us - at the bargain price of £25 a night each for accommodation (including a beachfront chalet upgrade from a simple dorm) and three meals a day, this took the financial worry away and we were good to go.

The following morning we hopped into a courtesy car and were taken down to the 'port' where we were to take our (uber-cheap) ferry over to Malolo Island. As we trundled down a short windy lane, we ended up behind a boat being towed by a tractor....... Yep. Our boat being towed by a tractor. We got a great comedy shot of the tractor by the sea, it seemed very incongruent with - well, the sort of vehicles you normally see by the sea, i.e. more boats and less farming equipment. A mere 30-40 minutes of faffing by the various Fijians in charge of our journey and we were in our boat. In a (really long) jiffy.

By this time the sun was making a big song and dance about coming out and we'd been a bit slack with the old sun cream, so by the time we got to our island, lets just say noses were a distinctly unsightly red colour.

The red really didn't go with the green of Jane's cheeks - never one to enjoy bobbing about on the ocean - and the journey was slightly longer than the promised '40 minutes'. I, on the other hand love being in boats and with my Ipod pumped up to the max really enjoyed the 2 hour trip. I tried to help her out by singing 'A Sailor's Life fer Meeeeeeeeeee' but not sure it did the trick.

Sorry Jane.

But! Oh happy day! How excited we were when arrived at Walu Beach! Our little chalet looked like the honeymoon suite - it was gorgeous. The pool and bar was so pretty and we even had a little gym overlooking the turquoise water comprising 2 exercise bikes (one broken), a cross trainer (broken) and a rowing machine (also broken). Dinner revealed the food to be excellent and our budget even stretched to some vino that night. Good times.

We had a bit of a giggle when we realised we were playing the ultimate 'Or' game again though (you know the one where you say stuff like 'Do you prefer cats or dogs? Would you rather be bald for life or have excessively hairy hands for life?' That kind of thing......). In our case it was 'shall we go on the internet today and chat with our families or shall we have a glass of wine with dinner?' Unfortunately we couldn't afford both. It still was a step down from Australia though where it had been 'shall we sleep in a bed tonight or have some dinner?' That was real hardcore.

And from the moment we arrived on Malolo, the sun smiled down upon us and we spent the most relaxed and contented week I think I've ever had in my life. Of course, we still did our fitness programme each day. We swam, we cycled (took it in turns on the one bike that wasn't rusted to buggery), we ran, we did press ups and sit ups and shrugged off bemused looks from the locals and other guests as we did so. What they didn't realise is this wasn't a holiday for us, just another day in life. Which I must admit sounds pretty odd.

We also kayaked out around a tiny private island opposite ours and watched the little stripey fish going about their daily business. Now kayaking is hard work - but awesome for bingo wings. Ladies, take note.

One day I went out kayaking on my own.

It rained a little on the way out, but on the return leg I gradually became very aware that the rain had stopped and the only noise I could hear was myself, pushing through the water. I stopped and floated to a halt. I cocked my head and listened........ total and utter silence. And around me complete blue. Intense blue like I've never seen before. The water was as still as a mill pond, the sky blended seamlessly at the horizon. It was a powerful moment and I once again contemplated how far I'd come and how happy I felt.

It was during this week in Fiji I fully understood the meaning and impact of Inner Peace and realised with clarity that I'd really made it there.

Every evening at about 4pm, when the light had that beautiful golden glow which lit up the water and made it sparkle, and the horizon started turning pinky yellow, I would go and sit on a boogie board, bask in the early evening sunshine, look out to sea and just smile this massive smile.

I knew that somehow for me life would never be the same again. I've always been a positive person, but I think before I've dwelled too much on the past. Of course this trip will never be forgotten, and the memories are vastly important, but what was becoming very apparent was how I needed to take what I've learned and use it to create for myself a solid, fulfilling and happier existence back at home.

Previous experiences have knocked me down, but made me stronger - and those together with such an immensely positive experience on Raleigh, it made me shiver with anticipation for my future. I feel like I am on the edge of something which cannot fail to be anything other than incredible. My foundations are rock solid, and never again will I let anyone, or anything shake them.

And this is not something which I am deriving from anyone else, it is all coming from me. Yes, a relationship is still very important to me, yes my friends and family are essential in my life - but I know am equipped to make a huge success of my life. Maybe I have already in some ways - even by getting to this point of realisation.

I think for a long time before I went away I felt a little numb. I found it hard to care too much about anything much. And now I feel so inspired, energised and motivated, that anything could be possible.

And boy do I care............. about improving myself, learning, developing my skills and knowledge to get a great job, training as hard as I can to achieve even greater results as an athlete (hopefully), appreciating my family, who are amazing, and who have probably put up with a lot from me moping and being miserable in the past. It is like a little revelation, and I love it.

Before I ramble on any further about all this amazing self-awakening and realisation (yep, I used to yawn and rubbish all that kind of chat before as well, but I assure you, a) this sort of trip can revolutionise your life and b) it feels absolutely fantastic so there) I must tell you about the Cava Ceremony which we were invited to at Walu Beach. Oh, and the fact we nearly didn't make it home at all.

Cava is the root of a tree - not fizzy white wine as you and I know it to be in our world. When guests arrive in Fiji, particularly eminent guests, the locals hold a 'Cava Ceremony' to welcome them. They mix this brown powdered root with water - its sieved into a bowl and presented to each guest in turn, starting with the most important person first (incidentally that wasn't us).

As you are handed the small bowl (half a coconut), you must cup your hands and clap them together once shouting BULAH! You then neck the concoction, clap another three times with cupped hands and shout MUTHA! You then repeat this as often as you are handed the Cava.

The whole point is, apparently, to make your body go numb. It starts with a 'fizzy' feeling in your lips and tongue, after that your body starts to go numb and then, finally, your brain. 'More of a narcotic than alcoholic' explained our host, Mali. Excellent stuff. We didn't stay long enough to find out what total bodily numbness felt like (and anyway, I know how that feels after a never-to-be-repeated evening on magic mushrooms) but it was a unique experience and the evening was complimented by some lovely singing by the exuberant Fijian guys, with a particularly good rendition of 'In the Jungle' being the highlight.

So then. The time eventually came for us to leave, and this was obviously sad. I did however feel ready to go, I had done everything I wanted to on this trip and I had achieved so much. It was time.

I also had another exciting little reason for getting home as well, in the form of a rather lovely new man who was waiting for me in Surrey. This took the edge off the sadness of having to leave and was making me look forward to returning even more.

So it was a strange old mixture of emotions clanging about in my head as I stepped down onto the return ferry back to the main land.

I say 'ferry' but mean that in the loosest sense of the word. Perhaps it would be better to describe it as it really was - 'a tiny rickety old fishing boat'. It dawned on us both that this was the pay off for the low cost of the ferry crossing. As the boat lurched towards our jetty it already looked full to bursting. One girl was already heaving with sea-sickness as well, and everyone looked very wet. Righto.......

We threw on our bags, and the boat sunk lower into the sea. People seemed very reluctant to move up at all to let us on and I began to feel a bit annoyed. As we set off I understood why - one side remained relatively dry, the other got drenched approximately every 2 minutes. We both stated off on the wet side, but the captain ordered me to switch sides for weight distribution purposes, so I lucked out in the end - in more ways than one.

Once I'd settled into my teeny tiny little inch of boat space I noticed that the guy I was sitting next to was undeniably gorgeous. And Norwegian. Which meant nothing to me at the time of meeting, but as the (loooooong) journey panned out, I came to the conclusion that Norwegians were as funny and entertaining as Dutchmen. If you've never met any - I highly recommend you search some out - quality conversationalists, both nationalities.

I believe this was fate lending a hand as well, as I tend to get a little distraught in potentially uncomfortable/dangerous situations, and this was undoubtedly that. We were all wedged tightly together on the hard and uneven floor of a very old boat which was in pretty poor shape. There were too many of us on board, we had no life jackets, the sea was rough, waves were lapping overboard and there was no shelter from the relentless sun.

The story of the 'Life of Pi' flashed, unbidden into my mind and I tried to push away all thoughts of 'stranded boats'.

The heaving girl continued to heave (for some reason into the boat - she seemed fairly ambivalent towards chundering into the sea but seemed to prefer the legs of the guy sitting opposite her. He was considerably understanding about it in my opinion, not sure I'd have been so relaxed).

Jane had gone from green to grey. My nose had gone from red to Rudolph.

But through all of this, Mr Norway (we didn't swap names) chatted and giggled and larked about and it almost completely took my mind off our (quite dire) situation. Until, that is, we stopped.

The motor spluttered and chugged to a halt. We had been on a bit of a go slow for quite a while, and now it seemed we had officially run out of fuel.

The captain got on his mobile. Thank God for Nokia and Vodafone! A short sharp exchange of heated words and the conversation ended abruptly. I began to realise the severity of our predicament and became angry that we had been allowed to get on this ridiculous vessel, especially without life jackets. Raleigh staff would have had a field day over that one.

We bobbed up and down for what seemed like ages and the waves continued to spill over into the boat. We actually started discussing 'bailing' and 'having to make a swim for the mainland'. I knew I could do it, and had faith in Jane - we also had some pretty strong lads on board, but it was still a long way, and what about all our bags....... and the puking lady would surely struggle..... oh dear.

Mr Norway continued to keep me calm by taking the mick out of my ever-reddening nose, and eventually, EVENTUALLY, another boat came zipping towards us. On board was some spare fuel and one of our lovely Walu Beach guys. He ordered me and Jane onto his boat and said 'I am taking you from here'........ so Mr Norway and I parted company, but I sure was glad to get into an eminently more powerful boat with someone who looked like he actually cared whether we made it home alive or not.

Which we obviously did. Praise be to God.

Our flights home to the UK were thankfully reduced by one, the nice Qantas lady arranged it so that we only had to fly Nadi to LA, LA to Heathrow when we rang to confirm thus eradicating the extra stop at JFK, New York from the equation. Even so, it was 48 hours of hardcore sleepless travel and landing in London was very, very surreal.

Sleep-starved, shivering with the drop in temperature and fighting an already advancing cold, as we taxied down our final runway I turned to Jane and said, 'Well lady, it has been an honour and a priviledge to have travelled with you'.... but that's as far as I managed to get. Her eyes welled up and big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks, and I could no longer speak myself.

It was a really sweet moment, we both acknowledged how close we had become, even more than before we left, and we just cried a little for the end of our wonderful journey together.

A Happy Homecoming

We said it so many times, as we lounged on white sand beaches and gazed into sparkling aquamarine waters: 'As soon as we get home, it will seem as though we were never away'. At the time, that possibility made me shudder. Now, as I sit in my brother's cosy flat with Pushington Stanley Flatface the First (Poosh for short) purring and weaving around my ankles, it doesn't seem so bad afterall. In fact, I am extremely happy indeed.

So as I type I am trying to think, am I different? What do I feel? You can't go away for 6 and a half months and come back the same person, surely? Essentially, I suppose I am the same, but yes there are subtle differences. Apart from the physical differences; brown skin, more wrinkles, longer crazy hair and about half a stone less body fat the rest is slightly harder to put a finger on.

I think they key phrase is 'INNER PEACE'. This was something which I didn't realise I was after until Jane my lovely best travel buddy pointed out that it seemed to be what I was lacking. We were in Boracay at the time - the most stunning island I've ever had the fortune to lay my tired body on. And I was really down. Annoyingly, the reason for this was an elusive guy - isn't it always the case? They search me out the elusive ones, hunt me down and stir me up.

As my eyes took in paradise, my heart felt heavy and my mind felt numb. The sensation was very much at odds with my surroundings and it made me angry. I had finished the Raleigh expedition on top of the world (or more to the point, on top of a mountain - but that's another story again). I had lived this crazy simple life of 'back to basics' and whether I had romance in my life did not once enter my head. It was an irrelevance.

I had then made the questionable decision to meet up someone in Australia who I knew had the power to mess with my mind. Not intentionally, but just through circumstances. Lo and behold, a week of continuous guessing had left me leaving Oz with only a hint of my new self-confidence on show.

The anger grew. Was I going to let someone who is probably not worth my time, mess up my last month of gadding about? NO WAY, was the answer, I just had to find a way through it. Luckily at that point, fate made a three-fold appearance in some surprising guises; food poisoning, Travis.... and Stacy. That's a story already told and the combined experienced wrenched me away from thinking about a boy.

Next came my return to Mengaris, where it really dawned on me that in fact everything was very ok indeed, and the important things in life were staring me in the face, challenging me not to forget. I thought of all that Bev and I had achieved on expedition, the friends I had made in Borneo, the work I had done, the way I felt there. Happily, I realised that my recent boy-worrying was a mere blip. I knew right then, right there I would never, EVER let a guy have this sort of affect on me again. I don't need it, it became an irrelevance once more.

Once this feeling started creeping into my consciousness, there was no stopping it. It grew and grew, overwhelming me. I laughed at how I'd even managed to bother about such a pointless situation. The other thing I started to notice, was how you obviously project how you are feeling inside, onto others. As the inner peace radiated through me I clearly was inviting people in, without even trying to. It is true - you get what you give. If your happiness, your 'inner peace' is firmly in place, lovely people gravitate towards you. You get more, seemingly without even trying. Fiji, our final destination was a case in point - I'll write about that later.

So are you reading this and feeling nauseous? Laughing at my ridiculous typing, littered with cliches? Probably. And you know what? I don't care! This is for me. It feels like a revelation and it's making me very happy. DWMYH - that's how I do things these days........ not in a selfish way, just in a 'why would you do it any other way?' type way.

So. What else can I say about coming home? Well, it has been a delight to be reunited with my wardrobe. Living out of a backpack puts serious restraints on a girl's repertoire of outfits, and whilst I'd say what I'm wearing is far less significant to me that it used to be, its still very exciting to have so much choice again. Zipping open my storage bags felt like going shopping, but for free. Awesome.

My outlook on life is so different now. Anything which seems hard, I view as a challenge. People who seem difficult, I just find a way to manage them. When I feel down, I know it won't last, but accept that it's fine to feel that way for a bit. I look forward, I try harder, I intend to succeed. Maybe this is all stuff which just comes to you as you get older, but actually I feel that my trip has made a vast difference to the way I think. Sometimes I feel frustrated as I am not sure everyone understands. When I begin to talk about my trip I can sense people tuning out. But then I remember that it doesn't matter. I did it, I understand, thats all that counts..... and its a feeling I'll take with me for the rest of my life. And if I walk through life alone, thats absolutely fine too - I know how to make myself happy, I have goals and things to achieve - and I know I will do it, I believe in myself. Exciting times.

Tourettes Tom

As I have previously explained, Bev and I were the PMs in Batu Puteh throughout the entire expedition, but during Phase 2 we were joined by a third - one Mr Thomas Stewart.

It doesn't take a genious to work out how Tom got his nickname - TT (aka. Tourettes Tom). Never have I heard the word 'fuck' (sorry Mum) in so many sentences. We ended up having to ban him from radio comms as the guy who monitored all Raleigh conversations in Singapore was threatening to take Raleigh off the air as a result. Worldwide!

I first met Tom at the Staff Development weekend. By this stage we'd all been put through our paces on assessment, we'd got through it without having a mental breakdown, been accepted as staff and invited to yet another scout camp to meet the full staff team and learn some soft skills. Life coaching, a bit about dealing with difficult 'youths', managing conflict, that sorta thing.

Oh, and the pub of course, our first proper team bonding session. The weekend was taken by Nathan (sexy Nathan). Almost the first thing he said to us as a group after welcoming us was 'Guys, all I ask of you is tonight when you go to the pub, don't get rat-faced and bowl back at silly o'clock in the morning waking everyone up.'

Chorus of 'No, Nathan........................ NO, 'course not'.

The following morning was a bit awkward as we all surfaced with large headaches after only a few hours sleep. My last memory was sitting on Bev's shoulders, holding Kev's hand singing 'I've... HAD........... THE TIME OF MY LI-I-IIIIFE'. Then, as a team, we re-enacted that scene from Dirty Dancing - I got to do the leap :).

I considered trying to explain it away as a 'trust' game (they were big on them at Raleigh), but basically it was drunken idiocy. No getting around it. Sorry Nathan.

Anyway, TT. I can't say he made a huge impression on me at that weekend, I'll be honest. Nice enough but I thought he was trying a bit too hard. During staff induction in KK I still never really spent much time with Tom and therefore when it was announced he would join me and Bev as a third PM for Phase 2, I think I had my reservations.

I just wasn't sure we had clicked. Bev and I had established a way of working and already forged a very close bond. Would a third person be able to add to that in any way or would it be awkward?

On Day 1 of Phase 2 it was instantly very clear to me that Tom was raring to go, and willing to put 120% of his heart, soul and energy into, well - everything. I reminded myself of Rory's words, 'If someone challenges you, or you are not sure about them, go right on up to them and engage'. Following this maxim I fiddled proceedings so that I got to work with Tom and we threw ourselves into pathway laying.

It was seriously back-breaking work..... Bev and I were already used to grafting like animals, but to Tom it was all a bit new. Therefore I was enormously impressed at how he pushed himself, totally willing to go above and beyond for Alpha 2.

Possibly he was trying to prove himself and slot into our way of life, but actually I just think that's how Tom is. And as I got to know him - we laughed more and more. And more. And as a result I felt deeply in love with Tom. Just friend-love, Tom was soon to be a-fianced (proposal plans were already afoot for post Raleigh travelling), but I fell hard and fast.

He made such a big impression with the participants too, and once again, I don't think he was necessarily trying to connect with them, it just came naturally. His endless swearing immediately gained the respect of the boys (and the girls who flirted with the boys) and every single evening round the dinner table he had the entire team wetting themselves with laughter. I had to try and stop myself trying to monopolise his time, I just wanted to sit next to him as much as possible, because he made me feel so happy.

Tom had had a rough ride in stages of his life, one afternoon we shared our stories and both of us have gone through stuff which has shaped the people we are today. We are both pretty trusting, and I think that's one reason why we both seemed to bond with the participants so deeply, because we both put ourselves out there, don't try to be someone we're not, and as a result they 'got' us.

Tom threw himself into every moment of Alpha 2. He never once stopped thinking of the team, making effort with even the most trying of parps. One, in particular, who shall remain nameless - I've never seen somebody bend over quite so far backwards to try and engage this young kid to try and get him to salvage something from his time in Batu Puteh.

Us PMs all refused to believe that there is not a soul on earth who could visit this village and not come away having fallen in love. So when we came up against a pesky young 'un who refused to work, came up with every trick in the book not to get involved, and his only excuse was that the project wasn't 'community' enough - well, it was frustrating to say the least. We did not understand. Turned out that 'not community enough' can be translated as 'I'm a lazy arse'.

Tom did not stop trying once though to get through to this perplexing parp. And the way he went about it was so sweet and so funny, it was hard not to laugh out loud inappropriately - but Tom mate, I have to tell you it was pure magic watching you go about it.

One day sticks very clearly in my mind. As a treat for the hard working team, Bev, Tom and I had arranged with Rosli that instead of our normal lunch at the Eco Lodge we would herd the whole team onto the jetty and a boat would drag us out into the middle of the beautiful Tungog lake. Mescot and Raleigh, all together. Them with their tasty curry and rice, us with our peanut butter and crackers ;)

Lots of excitement from Alpha 2...... they ate, they laughed, they took in the stunning scenery and thanked their stars above for being sent to this awesome place. All apart from one, Participant X who had his permanently pained expression firmly pasted on. Still determined, Tom quizzed him on what might be wrong. He named all of his supposed ailments, asking him what was up. He spoke about how amazing the lake was, cleverly insinuating there should be no reason on earth to not be joining in the fun with the group.

Parp X knew he was being rumbled, and had no real excuses left to throw out there, I forget what he came up with in the end, but Tom caught my eye and we just dissolved into giggles.

I could relate. Once upon a time, I WAS that stroppy kid. As a teenager I believe that I lead my parents through hell at one point, probably ruining some lovely family holidays, just because I couldn't get a grip, bloody well stop being so miserable and join in. I'm sure I used 'ailment' excuses as to my apparent continuous dark mood. Having Parp X on my team made me want to ring my parents and apologise for all the times I'd been that way. Not quite to the same extent I don't think, but nevertheless, moody biaaatch, I was.

As Tom and I laughed until we were in pain at the sheer ridiculousness of Parp X refusing to enjoy such a treat, TT upped the ante by singing the theme tune to the Hovis advert - you now the one, 'Doooo do doooooo, do dooo doooooo, doo do do-do doooooooooooo............' where the poor little kid is soldiering up the hill with his heavy bike. And the tune stuck, and it was hard not to convulse when Tom would gently hum it under his breath if Parp X was being particularly 'woe is me' about things.

It is testament to Tom's patience and thoughtless nature though that he tried to make things better for this lad right up until the end. We were in agreement that neither of us wanted him to go away and regret not throwing himself into things and having a ball like everyone else did.

Another of my favourite TT moments was when he lost his sandal. It was an expensive rafting Merrell sandal. One of the deeply unattractive ones that tend to get associated with lesbians. We all had to have them, they were on the 'essential' kit list (I'm not sure I wore mine once, Raleigh, take heed). Tom wore his a lot though, he loved them. And during a particularly vigorous bout of trying to get the blessed jetty out of the mud and back in the water, Tom was suddenly down a Merrell. Man he was annoyed. Expletives left, right and centre. Eventually he made his peace with it and continued to get on with life. Occasionally muttering about how there was a lucky monkey somewhere down stream, modelling a (very expensive) sandal.

But lo! What miracle occurred just a week later! The sandal was found! Fossilised in mud, but sure enough, the Merrell lived! Dear God I have never seen such unabashed, pure and total joy over the finding of a shoe. He told everyone in the village, he shouted it from the treetops. The monkeys knew, most of Sabah knew.

As a result, the River God of Shoes took Lois' left welly the next Day.

'He Who Must Be Appeased', I guess.

How guilty do you feel Tom?

Tourettes Tom, it was an absolute honour having you in Alpha 2. I particularly love the way you shout like a girl when you poor cold water over your head - ah special jetty-washing moments :)

If you read this I hope you will not take offence at the fact I had my reservations about you at the off-set. You know now how I feel about you, and I treasure your friendship as I treasure my green stripey Celtic Rosli-socks. Now you KNOW what that means :)

Have I told you lately that I love you?