me old China

The wait for my packed boxes to be collected was long and dull and involved ten hours sat next to Berry and Helen's front door. The courier missed the 8am-5pm slot so I rang to chase. Finally a driver arrived who didn't display a huge knack of 'putting the customer at ease.' Two hours later he called me from the freight company's unit in Slough asking why he couldn't gain access. I let him know that I didn't have much faith in my possessions reaching Mozambique.

When I eventually made it to the office to continue clearing my desk, my colleague Di asked 'have you processed it yet?' in reference to the upcoming move. No, I don't think I have much. It's a strange feeling as I have been travelling so much anyway, that in the three years since I returned from Cambodia, I've never properly reintegrated.

I don't know why I've hoarded old Chinese visa applications from 2012, but I have, and it creates a lot of paperwork to now purge. In 2012 I pouted more often and had shaggier hair.

The other notable moment of the day was quickly returning a hire van (and leaving Berry stationed by his front door), borrowing Berry's bike to dash back and ripping a 15-inch gaping hole in my jeans after I swung onto his inordinately high seat. That led to a chilly exposed cycle for the nether regions, but at least one less pair of jeans to stuff into my bags.