A few days ago I was in the check in queue at Heathrow with Sue for a flight to Kuala Lumpur. It was good to see so many Malaysians in all their different shapes, styles and sizes, from bald jowly Chinese taxi drivers to slim and elegant Malay ladies with their close fitting baju kabayas. Also slightly unnerving to be waiting for a flight with an "MH" prefix after the mysterious disappearance of MH 370. After half an hour of shuffling along I kissed Sue goodbye and left her to her journey, which will end in Miri in Borneo, where she has a year long contract with the British Council.
Sue only had a couple of weeks notice of the job and so it has yet again been a rush to pack and organise our lives. This time I will remain based in Europe, mainly so that we don't have the headache of getting our house out of mothballs on our return for the second time in as many years.
Last week was spent travelling between Uxbridge and Lincoln seeing our parents. Dad at least is in a fairly good place at the moment. He feels safe and cared for in his little bungalow, carers craning him out of bed in the morning then craning him back again at night. During the day he whirs around the house knocking lumps out of the doorframes, watching TV and waiting for the lunchtime and afternoon visits by his carers.
Now I'm back at home and feeling a bit empty and directionless, but with the incredible luxury of time and space to decide how to fill my time over the next twelve months. I feel a powerful urge to use my legs while I still have the benefit of them.
