[Dirty Bitch]

After a 12 hour dead-sleep, I woke up at my Dad's with no-one around in the house. I checked my wounds. The infected bite on my right arm is looking terrible; as big as it's ever been and yellow like mustard. On my right finger, the cut i sustained falling in to a gutter whilst stood still in Luang Prabang is also seeping. The lump on my bck from the same fall is becoming a nice purple bruise, but the bite on my right arm seems to have been saved by Graham's generous offer of bandages and Polysporin; Dad and I had removed these bandages the night before, to my relief. Something like 4 days ago, maybe 3, Graham, Phil and I had ventured across town via a 9 baht (18p) canal boat to the huge MBK market, a mammoth indoor shopping centre somewhere between 21st century mall and traditional market. A shocked young lady who was trying to sell me Thai boxing shorts asked what had happened to my bandaged arms. "A tiger," i told her. "No!" she exclaimed, "you are lying! Are you ok?" "You should see the tiger," said Phil. After Graham had finished stocking up on gear for his adventure to New Zealand, the three of us hopped back on the 9 baht boat and went to see the lovely Giftzy on Khao San Road. She immediately sorted him out a cheaper flight than any other travel agent, online or real-world, had quoted and we celebrated with some noodles and a beer. Graham was flagging and went to bed after Phil had used his tiny shower, leaving Phil and I to waste the rest of the night playing pool in a bar, counting the hours until our 5 a.m. bus to the airport. I intermittently went out on to the main road to buy vodka-red bull buckets, a necessary ingredient to any long night, and each time I entered the main strip the place smelt more of oil and the people's stumbles and slurs became more obvious. We chatted to the night staff whilst entering our own exhausted stupor and eventually had to sprint to get our bags from Graham's room to make the bus. We made it. I was expecting to take my first flight alone that morning, Phil and I due to depart for London 5 minutes apart, but such is the nature of travelling that a lovely young couple called John and Jen got chatting to us on the bus and it turned out that they were on my flight home. The three of us chucked Phil on to his plane and began our long, delayed, tiring journey home. I got no more than 30 minutes sleep at a time and managed to watch 3 full movies in the 15 hours we were on a plane. Luckily I'd drunkenly chatted up the lady in Bangkok airport who booked my seats for the planes and she'd arranged for me to have extra leg-room on both of my flights. However, this did not help in the sleep department, confirming that my lanky frame is not built for relaxtion in transit, and when I reached Dad in Heathrow arrivals I was more manically-exhausted than ever in my life. "No bed and no sleep for around 80 hours, Dad," i explained. "Have you got a lighter?" It was incredible to see everyone, Dad, Bev and Chris all gave me big hugs and I ate cereal and drank tea until my voice finally ran out. And so i awoke this morning after my heaviest sleep ever, completely dazed and quite emotional at not being with Rory or Arun. I sent Rors, who is in sunny Chiang-Mai with the gang, an email and phoned Cherry and Steve before re-entering England properly for a Rizla and filters trip to the shops. As I walked down the road the bitter breeze turned my hands purple. An old lady who was clearing things off the street stopped dead still when I passed her, giving me a look of apprehension. This made me reflect on how I looked now. Whilst away, I'd looked like a traveller, an open-minded dude, an adventurer; I looked like what I was. Now I was back at home, I realised I was still exactly what I looked like, except that the words were different. An unfashionable, unshaven, unemployed youth. Same same, but different context.