Surfing without a net

I'm just checking in quickly while I'm in a hotel which has internet access.

I got back to Britain, picked up my hire-car and have been whizzing about the country. I began at my Mum's, where I spent the first few days recovering from DH's snot germ which finally battered its way through my defences the night before the flight (sigh). Once I was looking and sounding less like a swine flu risk, I met up with Georgina and Kelly, fellow Jazzers and Scrap Whisperers for the first time. We had the most fun time making cards and chatting, and spending money, and well lots of chatting! I can't beat Georgina's write-up, so have a look at her blog article for photos and more info, including a little video of us all! It was just the best time, and we're going to try and do it every year if we can.

Now I'm in the west country on the second leg of my trip. Yesterday I went to our sparkling new shopping centre to find a Wi-Fi point. Imagine me in my heels and smart trousers and jacket tip-tapping sexily through the trendy local folk with my useful but distinctly un-sexy Kipling laptop back-pack! 95% business girl but spoiling the whole effect with her hiking bag. Ah well.

I found a Starbucks which had a large "free Wi-Fi" sign on the door, and went inside with my laptop to try to get my blog updated and check my e-mail. I had about half an hour - should have been no problem, right? So first of all, I ordered my soy hot chocolate and asked about the free Wi-Fi. Apparently I had to buy (“free” my foot) a Starbucks card, then register it, and then I could access the net.

Well this did not go well. I spent 25 minutes faffing and scratching my head, and my battery failed and I had to pack up everything and go in search of a table with a socket near it, then boot everything up again. I finally managed to navigate through the most complicated login/registration system in the world, and then I had about 2 and a half minutes left to check my e-mail, before I had to go and meet MIL and FIL.

The blog was the casualty, but now I'm sitting in comfort at the window of my converted stable room with the view of a stone wall, some late geraniums and pansies, and through a cast iron gate I can see long-missed trees clothed in their brief autumn splendour. It's all so English and delightful, and right now I want to come home to stay.

I left DH in Singapore with blocked Eustachian tubes and in an additional agony of indecision over 2 job offers: a project in Australia which is a one-off opportunity that he'll never have again, and his dream job back home in the English west country. There are no big pros or cons, the money and job security and excitement level for each is about the same. My poor man is in a position that most people would kill for, and it's eating him up with uncertainty. I'm no help because I'll be happy wherever we are and whatever he chooses. I only want him to be happy, and to be able to work an 8-5 day instead of 5-8. And no I'm not exaggerating.

So to anyone who wants to know what we're doing (house agent, visitors, friends and relatives, and a lot of other people) please continue to be patient with us for just a little longer?

I must go. Got to see a man about a new front drive. And gird my loins (and other parts - armour plating would be good) for tomorrow's onslaught with an extremely excited and boisterous little niece and nephew. I can't wait!