week 6 - pick up sticks

Ya know, it's hard to conceive that I've only been in the UK for six weeks now. It feels so much longer then that.

The hunnymoon is over. It's buckle down and get ready to pay the rent time. The plastic has stopped working - and rightly so, after all it was only a matter of time that the banks back home gave up on me.

Today? 31st of March, planning a quiet as possible April, a travel buddy is planning to stop by this week, really wishing that I hadn't said anything. But hey, it's time to give back - right? I've been blessed with offers and many of which I have taken people up on during my travels, least I can do is share a bed for a few days. If worse comes to worse, I'll just invite myself to the manhunks place and invade. Bless him.

All the shit he has to deal with when it comes to me. It's a wonder he has managed to last this long and not put a foot out of place, well, except for that time I thought he forgot to pick me up from a mates place. Being the psycho-bitch that I am, I stormed off on foot, groceries and luggage in tow, cursing him the whole way home.

I find myself sounding more and more english as the days pass. I really don't want to, I like my aussiness, but I'm struggling. Just like rear and thighs. 11 stone. 11 freaking stone. Now, most half sane women wouldn't advertise that sort of information, but the frustration that attempting to pull a pair of jeans on caused on Saturday night was just too much to handle.

They got the thighs and just stopped. Lay down on the floor and suck your stomach in said one friend. Just keep squatting in them said another. I cried, the zip caught a very sensitive piece of skin. So then I pulled out the fat top and jeans and went on my way. Today? Today I start fresh. Healthy Dani. Good Dani. Going to tone up and loose all this weight Dani.

Oh, and on the travel horizon, I'm thinking Portugal in May. Braga, Lisbon and Fatima - suggestions?