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Hi I’ve been away for the last week, leaving home at 4:15am on my birthday, I walked to Canary Wharf Jubilee Line Station because the DLR (Docklands Light Rail) which is closer to home and passes through that station doesn’t run at that time in the morning. It was cold and dark and I arrived at the station 10 minutes before it even opened. The journey to the airport and the flight to Scotland were uneventful. When the airport bus arrived at Waverly Station in central Edinburgh it was pouring.  I called Ken with whom I’d be staying for the next few days and walked the 10 or so minute walk to their apartment. Ken was one of the Lotus Notes server administration guys I used to work with at Macquarie Bank. He’s Scottish, but his family left Scotland when he was 5, and he and his girlfriend Michelle had been planning to come and live in the UK for a while, well at least since before I left Macquarie, and they arrived a month or so ago. Despite the foul weather, we ventured out and they showed me around. First stop was a pub for lunch. I knew that whilst in Scotland I’d have to try haggis, which is Scotland’s national food and consists of offal stuffed in sheep intestine. I’m not adventurous when it comes to trying new food, quite the opposite to Nick, but I knew I wouldn’t get away with not trying it. But now was not the time. I may as well wait until he arrived so at least he could witness the event. After lunch we walked up to Edinburgh Castle. The Castle is the centrepiece of the city. You walk out of Waverly Station and onto Princes Street, the main shopping street. On one side are all the shops, and behind the wall on the other side, the level dips down into what used to be the castle moat but is now a grassy and leafy park. The trees at this time of year are the wonderful golden, yellow and brown colours of autumn. From the middle of the park rises up this impressive core of volcanic rock, covered in green mosses, and on top stands the old stone castle. We walked along Princes Street, past the blackened, gothic monument to the Scottish author Sir Walter Scott. Ken and Michelle showed me a really old graveyard with a watchtower in one corner. The watchtower is in place because in the early 1800s, two notorious villains by the names of William Burke and William Hare, probably along with many others, used to exhume bodies of the recently buried, and then sell the bodies to doctors for scientific research. The reason Burke and Hare became so famous was because they devised a way of meeting the scientists’ demands that involved less work than digging up graves. They were convicted of murdering people to create a ready supply of specimens which were eagerly purchased for the great sum of eight pounds per body. We ambled through the graveyard, known in Scotland as a Kirkyard, Kirk meaning Church in Gaelic, trying to find the oldest tombstone we could. Some had cracked and fallen, and others had so much lichen growing over them that the embossed letters had filled with the tiny growths making the stones seem totally smooth and worn and unreadable. I think the earliest we discovered was from 1804, but we know from a subsequent tour that we embarked on, that there were so many bodies that needed to be disposed of over such a long period of time, the multitude of Kirkyards filled up. Small valleys became small hills with layers of bodies on top of bodies on top of bodies. Not all the deceased even has a tombstone to mark their burial, we only saw the few remaining, or the few that were ever there. From the Kirkyard we walked up part of the Royal Mile of the Old Town. The Royal Mile stretches from Edinburgh Castle to the Holyrood House (the Royal Palace), and used to be the entire length of Edinburgh. There used to be walls on either side of the city, and everyone lived inside those boundaries together. And today you can still see where the gates used to be. The Royal Mile has lots of shops and pubs and entrance into what are called Closes. As the name implies, they are tiny streets that are closed at the other end. They are only pedestrian streets, often you have to walk through a gate or door, or through a small, narrow, and low corridor to get through. The Royal Mile is a road that allows vehicles, but it is also fairly narrow, and the floor is made of cobblestones. At the very top of the long road, opposite the castle is a Tartan-weaving mill and museum. We saw a huge rack holding about 70 big reels of wool of about 4 or 5 different colours. The strand of wool from each reel comes out and is threaded through several hooks at certain points and eventually lead, totally untangled to a thing that looked like a really long, upside down comb, each thread of wool resting between the teeth of the comb. This got all the strands together at one height, from their different heights and depths on the rack. Then, there was a massive roller, I don’t know if this is what’s known as a loom, but it was like a gigantic toilet-paper role, maybe a couple of metres in diameter. The roller had obviously had each of the threads somehow attached to it at the beginning, and now, as it rolled, each thread was pulled from it’s respective reel, through it’s series of hooks, over the comb, and onto the roller. I’m not sure how the next bit happened, but after several rotations, the operator would stop the process and loop the ends of the threads under themselves on the roller. The reason I didn’t catch this bit, is how can the threads have ends if they’re still hooked up to the comb and the hooks and the reels. And the operator never had to reattach them back to the roller. But anyway, that’s not important. The end result was lots of strands of wool in a striped pattern according to the quantities of each colour, without a single tangle. I’m not sure how the strands of wool were transported to the next stage, involving another machine, but I know that it must be a very careful or automated process, because if you took the threads off by hand they’d just hang in a bundle and the whole pattern would be lost. On the other machine, I think this is called the loom, there was another piece of tartan cloth being manufactured, and obviously it had been through the first stage and was now more cloth like. The machine it was on had the lengths of wool from the first stage lying flat and pulled taut, and wooden booms swinging back and forth on what looked like hinges made of elasticised bandages, but however it worked, it completed the cloth by somehow weaving in the strands of wool that created the stripes going perpendicular to those that were strung on the big roller.  In the little museum there was more detail about all the stages, and the machinery, and there were also mannequins wearing the different models of kilts that have evolved over the centuries. Ken, being Scottish showed me what his tartan looks like. His last name is Thomson and there are several different ones for Thomson, but his is blue.  Unfortunately, later in the week I was at the Museum of Scotland and I asked one of the staff there if there was any exhibits about bagpipes, ‘cause I saw a musical section and there wasn’t any mention of them. And the guy said that there was a bagpipe on level 5, but they, and tartans aren’t as important in Scottish history and culture as everyone thinks. Apparently the bagpipes originated in the Middle East and Tartan in Ireland. Also apparently, Queen Victoria had something to do with their popular association with Scotland. But I don’t know too much about that and I’m not going to investigate. We didn’t go inside the castle, ‘cause there wasn’t enough time or light left in that day, so we went back down to Leith, the area where Ken and Michelle live, and we had a lovely dinner in a local Nepalese restaurant. This was nice, because I wanted to have a birthday dinner in a Nepalese restaurant in Sydney last year but never got around to doing anything about it. After dinner we went to a pub to wait until Nick’s train arrived from London. It was delayed by an hour, and then when he rang us we didn’t hear the phone. But finally we met up at the station and went back to Ken and Michelle’s (I’m just going to call them K&M now) home. Nick’s been to Edinburgh before, so he didn’t really care what we did. I wanted to go up the local crag, called Arthur’s Seat, and thought it would be good to do it whilst Nick was there ‘cause K&M aren’t really keen on walking. In the end they decided to come with us and did an awesome job getting to the top (which Michelle couldn’t believe). It was a lovely 360 degree view of the city. Old Town and New Town and the sea, and we could see roughly where K&M lived, and the autumn trees in the park below. I loved it especially ‘cause heaps of people taking their dogs up for a walk. On the way down, we were virtually on the flats again, Michelle slipped in the mud, so she and Ken went home to get changed and Nick and I wandered up part of the Royal Mile. Unfortunately for me I took Nick to the fudge shop, and we couldn’t agree on flavours, and so we ended up buying about 9 pieces… and you don’t get a choice in size, each slice is not small. We stopped off and had lunch and watched the football in a pub before going into a few museums. We went through the small Edinburgh Museum quite quickly, and then went into the Childhood Museum. Nick was specifically looking for something to do with Thunderbirds that he’d seen last time he was there. I enjoyed seeing things that I used to have… like Bunnikins crockery from the Peter Rabbit series. And coloured rods used for counting, and a poster I used to have with “A for Apple, B for Bee” etc. That night we met back up with K&M for dinner in a pub. I’ve never been to so many pubs in my entire life! And then we decided to go Edinburgh’s famous ghost tour called “City of the Dead”. Michelle really didn’t want to go at first, but after a few drinks she said she was up to it. Like London, Edinburgh has a gruesome history.  The tour started with the explanation of how people could be tried for witchcraft. They needed no proof or reason to suspect someone of practicing. The trials were awful. They’d tie a woman’s wrists to her ankles, and throw her in the river. If she sunk and drowned, then she was innocent, and her family would be left alone. If she floated, and this did happen sometimes, when an air pocket formed under their big puffy dresses and petticoats, then she was guilty, and she’d be torched. Her family would be tortured into confessing that they were guilty as well. On the children they often used thumb clamps, which they tightened, crushing the child’s bones. Occasionally, if the child wouldn’t confess at the first infliction of pain, the torturers would keep on tightening the clamps, and the child’s thumb had been known to pop off. The husband was often given what was known as rat or cat torture. They’d open the cage of a rat or cat, putting the opening against the persecuted person’s chest. Then they’d heat the bars of the cages, making it excruciatingly painful for both the animal and the person. The only way out of the scorching cage for the animal is where there are no iron bars, but that involves gnawing through the flesh of the living person, and out the other side.  Gross, but true. Often, knowing the consequences of his wife being found guilty of witchcraft, the husband would, if his wife floated in her trial, get a long pole and prod the air out of her skirt so she would sink, and thus relieve the rest of the family from suffering torture. Another thing we learned was about how the Picts, a people who inhabited the area of Edinburgh before the Romans, tried to defend themselves against the invading Roman army. They were known to paint themselves blue, and they’d fight naked, and they’d line up and make eye contact with the Roman soldier across the field from them, they’d run screaming across the field, maintaining eye contact the whole time, and then, at the last minute, they’d all angle their spears slightly to the right and stab the Roman soldier diagonally across from them. Apparently this worked a couple of times but then the Romans (presumably not the front line… well, maybe the one on the far left), caught on and adjusted their tactics accordingly. Our tour guide told us how unhygienic Edinburgh used to be. At 10 o’clock each night the people of the town used to open their windows and shout “Gardy Loo” (gardez l’eu means mind the water in French) and then tip their chamber pots and other household waste out the window into the streets. Urrgh. For this reason among others, the richer people lived up on the top stories, minimising the foul odours that reached their domestic areas, whereas the poorer people lived in squalor in the lower floors of the buildings, some not even above ground. During the time of the plague, 1645, the people that lived in the lower areas were more susceptible to contamination. At one point, all the people who were known to have contracted the disease were forced into a tiny area called Mary Kings Close and the area was boarded up, trapping the inhabitants in isolation, unable to leave the premises, dependent on others to supply them with any food, but otherwise left to die. Anyway, we walked up towards Greyfriars Kirkyard said to be haunted by the MacKenzie Poltergeist. Our guide constantly reminded us that we were on the tour at our own risk, and explained to us the story of the Poltergeist. The word means “noisy ghost” in German, but a poltergeist is a collection of energy that builds up and has a self-awareness and can interact with its environment. Sir George MacKenzie was an evil law officer who sentenced many people to death in the mid-1600s. He is buried in a crypt in Greyfriars Cemetery and has only started to become a nuisance since he was disturbed in 1998. A drunk and homeless man was said to have been looking for some shelter in a crypt on a dark and stormy night. He opened the bars to the crypt, and on the ground found a grate, which he opened as well. He climbed down the steps under the grate and fell through a gap in the flooring and into a pile of partially decomposed bodies. Obviously startled by the smell and texture, he ran screaming up the stone steps and out of the grate. At the same time, the graveyard watchman had come out to investigate the noises he had heard when the drunkard was moving the heavy great across the concrete floor of the crypt. The watchman, terrified as he was, encountered the drunk, and they further scared each other out of their wits, and the commotion was said to be that which disturbed sir George’s spirit. Apparently there have been many encounters with this Poltergeist, and the prison, the area around the crypt, is kept locked. People get knocked unconscious, and some people feel a gentle brush on their face, like they walked through a spider-web, when there is none, but the next day their face is all bruised and scratched. The City of the Dead tours have a licence to use the keys to bring tourists inside the prison, and they are only allowed to stay in the crypt for a maximum of 10 minutes which is how long it takes for the “more serious” attacks to take place. Our guide advised that if, within three seconds of walking in the gates of the prison, you feel like you are being mugged by something you can’t see, then get out immediately because that means you are an inductor. You induce the poltergeist immediately, rather than the energy building up from the gradual release of energy by the group over the 10 or so minutes. Some people come back and do the tour more than once to see if they get the same reactions. Apparently the Poltergeist always attacks the same person over and over again if they come back. We were told if we feel, as an individual, a sudden drop in temperature, to move from where we are standing ‘cause everyone who falls down unconscious has reported first feeling like they were in a cold spot first. One person who had been on the tour before decided to leave soon after we entered the crypt, but other than that nothing happened. The tour finished at the cemetery and we had to find our own way back, which I didn’t like much. But not to far away there were streetlights and other people, so it wasn’t to eerie. There’s a pub there called Greyfriar Bobby’s. Named after a little dog to whom there is a monument outside the pub. The dog belonged to a police officer, and was a very loyal and loving dog. When his owner died, the little dog continued to go to his master’s grave and sit there every day for the 14 years until the dog himself died. Animals aren’t allowed to be buried in human cemeteries, but in this instance, the Queen made an exception and allowed Bobbie to be buried next to his late owner in Greyfriars Cemetery. The next day, we went by train to see a soccer match, known everywhere else in the world as football, in Glasgow. It was the Glasgow Rangers playing the Edinburgh Hibernians. Even though they live in Edinburgh, K&M actually go for the Glasgow team, ‘cause that’s where Ken is originally from. He’s a huge fan, and I remember him having the Rangers screen saver on his computer at Mac Bank. He somehow managed to get us a couple of tickets last minute. The game was good, the Rangers winning 2-1, all goals being scored in the first half. We took the Edinburgh based Rangers fan team bus back, but unfortunately there were road works and we didn’t get back in time for Nick to catch his train back to London, so he had to make alternate arrangements and fly back. The next day I went back to Edinburgh castle by myself to have a wonder around. I took an audio tour around and it was quite interesting. I saw the tiny little room where Mary Queen of Scots gave birth to King James the VI. Mary Queen of Scots was the cousin of Queen Elizabeth I and QE I succeeded her half sister Queen Mary, both daughters to their father King Henry VIII. I wrote in my last diary that Anne Boyleyn, King Henry’s 2nd wife (of a total of 6 wives) was beheaded at the Tower of London because she did not produce a son to inherit the throne after King Henry VIII died. His 3rd wife, Jane Seymour, produced a son who, at the age of 9, succeeded his father as King. He was King Edward VI, but died when he was 16. There was a lady named Lady Jane Grey who was Queen of England for 9 days after Edward died, but I’m not sure who she is or why she got the throne. But anyway, after 9 days, King Edwards eldest sister, Mary (Bloody Mary), from King Henry VIII’s 1st wife, Catherine of Aragon, was crowned Queen of England. When Mary died, QE I inherited the throne, but she never produced a successor, so her nephew,  King James VI of Scotland, son of Mary Queen of Scots, also became King James I of England. Hey, I’m getting the hang of this British history business! Also, in the castle I saw the Scottish crown jewels, and I had a photo next Mons Meg. That is a 300 pounder, a cannon that shot great concrete balls weighing 300 pounds a round. The gun is significant for some reason, but I can’t remember why. I think it was a birthday present from one king to another. There’s another canon, which is shot at 1pm every day. It’s now just for the sake of tradition, but it used to be to make an audible and visual, using the smoke from the blast, signal to the ships at sea, of the local time. I’m not sure if it’s true, but the audio tour told me why the gun is shot at 1pm instead of 12. It’s because of the Scot’s supposed conserving nature… why shoot 12 rounds, when 1 will do the same job, just an hour later. That evening I met up with David and Clare and Bump, whom I met on my tour through Canada. Clare is pregnant, and that explains who Bump is. We had a lovely evening chatting and had a lovely dinner. It was great to see them again. The next day was my final last day in Scotland, and I took myself off to the Scotland Museum. The bottom 4 floors I found very interesting, all about how Scotland ended up where it is, about the continental plates, and the ice age, and the changing vegetation and wildlife and volcanoes and the landscape, and moved through up until the industrial age. Then I got rather bored, skimmed through the last couple of floors in less than 20 minutes and left. The one thing I did find interesting on the last couple of floors was that many of the famous British people were indeed Scottish. For example, James Watt, who invented the steam engine, Alexander Graham Bell who invented the telephone, John Logie Baird who invented the television, John Muir who founded modern environmentalism and started the National Parks Assosciation in the USA, David Livingstone who “discovered” Victoria Falls, as in “Dr Livingstone, I presume”, Kenneth Grahame who wrote Wind in the Willows, Alexander Fleming who discovered the antibiotic properties of penicillin and James Barrie who wrote Peter Pan. I left Scotland without trying haggis… how lucky for me! From Edinburgh I took the train to York where Mum suggested I make the effort to get to whilst I was so close. I enjoyed York, even though I was only there for one and a half wet days (and no sunny ones). I first went to Clifford’s Tower that was originally constructed in wood 1068, by William the Conqueror, the same guy that built the Tower of London. Prior to King William arriving, York was a Danish city. It was burned down twice and then in the late 1200s was rebuilt in stone. The second time it was burned down was in 1190, due to a huge anti-Semitic issue that had arisen in the area. I got the impression that it was due to people not being able to pay back the money they had borrowed from the Jewish moneylenders, but I’ve also read that it had to do with the Jews not resisting baptism and converting out of their faith. Whatever the reason, all the Jews took shelter from their potential persecutors in the castle, with permission from the castle constable, but then they started to fear the constable as well, and locked him out. They were threatened that they would all be slaughtered if they did not come out, and so, the majority of them decided to take their own lives rather than be tortured and massacred by others. In addition, they burned the wooden tower, and many of them perished in the flames. The few who did come out were murdered by the anti-Semites waiting for them at the bottom of the hill. I also spent several hours in the York Castle Museum that spans two buildings, one being the old women’s prison (as in it used to be the prison for women, not a prison for old women), and the other is the old debtors prison. Both were the first parts of the castle to be built in stone in the 1700s. In fact it would have been fairly pointless for prisons to be built of wood, like the rest of the castle, in the first place. I enjoyed the first part of the museum, but much of the second part was displays of weapons and armour, which I’ve seen quite enough of now.  You can see a cell left over in the debtors prison. It wasn’t just for people who couldn’t pay there debts, although that was the majority of offences. The cell on display was only about 1.5 x 2.5 metres, and it held prisoners on death row. The cell often contained three men, all in there for about 16 hours of each day. On one day in 1813 17 men were hanged, leaving 14 widows and 57 fatherless children, and there crime was being involved in the Luddite Movement, which was basically against people losing their jobs and being replaced by machines. I learned a few funny little things in the first part of the museum, which had some varied exhibits. Firstly there were some reconstructed rooms from earlier times, and then a whole section about the development and views on cleanliness and cleaning, tidying and sanitation products. Then there was a big section about births, deaths and marriages, and it finished with the reconstruction of a Victorian period street. Here are some tid-bits I picked up. The first toilet, or water closet (WC), was invented in 1592 by a sir John Harrington who designed it for his god-mother, Queen Elisabeth I, but no one else was inspired and it didn’t really catch on until about 1775, when Alexander Cummings “re-invented” it. And, maybe myth, maybe truth, but the word “piss” as in urinate, comes from the Latin word “apis” which means “bee”, because often on urinals they’d paint a bee on the far side for the boys (and probably the men too) to aim at. What else, oh yes, in the olden days fire extinguishing was carried out by private companies, (a bit like what’s happening here in London now, during the fire brigade strikes). So, in order to be covered you’d have to buy fire insurance, and when you bought it, you’d get a largish metal plate affixed next to your front door. Some of these plaques still exist today. Anyway, in the event of a fire, the fire fighters would arrive, and if they saw that you had an insurance plaque, they’d attempt to control and extinguish the fire burning your house down. If there was no visible plaque, then they’d do nothing about it. In the 17th Century, cooking on an open-hearth fire, to which there were few alternatives, was the second most common cause of death, after child birth, due to clothing catching alight. In the reconstructed Victorian street, you could go in and see what the shops were like. In the bank there was a metal sign saying something about “The Bank Holidays Act of 1871”… we still have bank holidays today… I wonder what it’s all about. And in the confectionary store, they have big glass jars of all sorts of candies, and behind the counter is a wooden chest with many little labelled drawers. Some of the labels read “Charcoal Lozenges” (urgh), and “Camphor Lozenges” (gross), and “Cocaine and Chlorate Potash Lozenges” (kids are bound to like them). Also, in the Victorian era, apparently if you wanted spectacles or even a microscope or slide or telescope you’d go to the local “Opticians and Philosophical Instrument Makers” shop. Which I guess now is OPSM, but they’ve changed the word “Instrument” to “Stuff” so the acronym works better. And finally, in an area where a carriage was kept, in a display cabinet there was an old book called a Road Book, dated 1810. It’s plaque indicated that it contains “the names of great roads in England and Wales, distances between towns, inns from where stage coaches leave from, where the carriages that carry post leave from, the number of houses and the number of inhabitants of each town. I guess today’s equivalent would be a Lonely Planet guide. The next day in York I went to York Minster, said to be the largest and one of the most beautiful cathedrals in Europe. It was big, and it was pretty… Lots of nice stained glass windows and high ceilings, very… Cathedral like.  I lit a candle in there for the remembrance of my Nana, Uncle Ray, and Claudie. I nearly gave the Jorvik Viking Centre a miss, but I’m glad I didn’t. It’s a ride through a re-creation of the old Viking town that existed about 1000 years ago. The remnants of the town, called Jorvik, have only been discovered during archaeological excavations in York that began in the mid 1970s. The word York is actually an English interpretation of the word Jorvik, the name of the Viking town that used to centre round Coppergate Street. Many of the street names end in “gate” in York, it means “street” in the language of the Vikings. I always thought the Vikings were like pirates, and wore those horned helmets, but the word Viking just means a people from Scandinavia. Anyway, the exhibit was fantastic, they even did their best to recreate (unpleasant) smells. After the ride there’s a museum where you can see actual pieces that they’ve dug up. The displays are incredibly well done. They’ve used this technique where they display all the archaeological pieces on blocks and tables covered in plain black cloth. Then they’ve set up a life size model of people and objects, like wooden or stone benches, to create a scene that represents one that would be found in a Viking town. Between the display of the model and the display of the objects they’ve placed a sheet of glass, and they’ve set up the lighting in such a way that when you look through the sheet of glass at the model, all the archaeological pieces are reflected to the precise positions so that it looks like the fit perfectly into the scene. For example, a tool would be reflected into the person’s hand, or the Scandinavian board game of Hnefatafl would be reflected into the area between the two children sitting cross-legged on the floor. I think the reason they did the pieces separately from the models was so could get a good look at the discoveries alone, rather than just in a busy scene that you scan over, and may miss certain pieces. The final place I visited in York was actually closed, but thankfully a school group had pre-booked as part of their excursion up from London, and I just happened to be there at the same time, so I was allowed in too. The place is called Mickelgate Barbican and was the main entrance to the walled city of York. It used to have a portcullis, one of those heavy iron grid gates that come down from the roof to the floor, and in the movies the hero usually rolls under just before the sharpened ends of the iron bar heavily hit the ground. The walls around the city, some parts still exist today, are about 6 feet thick. Mickelgate Bar is where the heads of convicted criminals were displayed on spikes to warn others of the fate that comes to those that don’t comply. Usually the heads were stolen by family members and taken to be buried with the rest of their loved ones body, because according to the faith, if the body is incomplete, the soul can not enter into an eternal peaceful rest. Early the next morning I caught the train back to London. When I arrived it was warm and sunny. How bizarre, who would’ve thought? Anyway it was great, because the whole week I’d been away it was cold and wet. In fact, whilst we were in Oxford the previous weekend, I had to throw my umbrella out ‘cause it kept on blowing inside out. I can’t help laughing at people when that happens to them, but it’s rather annoying when it happens to me, but I still think it’s funny. Then this week I borrowed Nick’s umbrella, ‘cause he never uses it, and his is much stronger and better quality than mine was. But this weekend it got totally blown inside out and wrecked too. Several people had a chuckle at me, ‘cause I only had half an umbrella up, and the other half was just limp and dripping down my backpack. Oh well… do unto others… As always, I’ve got a few personal things to say. Firstly, thank you to Ken and Michelle for accommodating both Nick and myself, and accompanying us up to Arthur’s Seat, and on the ghost tour :o) and of course getting us tickets to the soc… football. Thanks also to Clare and David for taking me out to dinner. Happy birthday to Papa, Leonie, Mules, Ruairidh and myself. And happy anniversary to Mum and Dad, I’m so glad you guys had a nice holiday and a break before the Christmas rush begins. Also, congratulations to Nick’s Dad, Alec, on becoming the CEO of CSR. Condolences to Ruairidh on the passing away of his Uncle, and also to Maggie, my cousin’s neighbour, and everyone who knew and loved Neddie, her little dog who had to be put down. Also, my time in London is coming to an end. I leave for back home in two weeks, and will be home on the 4th of December. I’m not coming back to the UK as was quite probable in my previous plans. But it all depended on how easily I found a job and whether I liked it here. But it was hard and I don’t, so I’m coming home for good. I’ve had a lot of places I’ve called home over the last 12 months, but as they say, home is where the heart is, and that will always be in Sydney. And I’m going to look into either more study or apprenticeship or something to do with working with animals. My time with IT, I think is pretty much over. Mum and Dad used to say to me when I wanted to drop out of school in year 10 and just work at McDonalds (true), that what ever you can learn in 5 minutes, I’ll probably be bored with in 5 minutes. And so it goes with IT… it took me about 3 and a half years to learn, and it took me about the same time to get bored with it. Besides, I’ve never been the least bit interested in computers anyway. Until next time folks, Nique