Living for Disco

I’m homesick.  Desperately, miserably so.  I don’t know why – I don’t usually get homesick, but then I haven’t been out of the UK for more than about five months at a time since I was twenty. 

I’ve had twinges of missing home for a few months.  I’ve occasionally sat in my flat, cosy and relaxed, a book on one hand, a glass of chilled white wine in the other, and suddenly I feel a deep longing for home.  I think how perfect it would be if I could be transported, Harry Potter like, my glass still in hand, to a pub where my friends sit laughing about men, and work, and people we know. 

Recently, though, in the last three or four weeks, I’ve been plagued with rosy visions of summer in England – you know, village greens that aren’t marred by vandalized bus-stops and piles of dog shit; pimms and lemonade; strawberries and cream; real ale; 99s; the crack of leather on willow: all that stuff.  I love summer in England.  It’s just wonderful.

I dream of spending a Sunday lying in Hyde Park with my best friend, slightly hungover, and getting slowly stoned and drunk while reading the papers in the sun.  I know that Hyde Park is full of inconsiderate wankers who kick footballs into your idyllic reverie, and shout a lot, and you can never find anywhere quiet to sit, but I still love it.

I also dream of having a job that actually stimulates me, and doesn’t make me feel as if my brain has stagnated to the point where it’s dribbling out of my ears, and where I don’t have to deal with comments like “I thought about you every night while I was away.  The last night, I threw up” from the person I share my office space with.  Then I remember that any job I have is going to be fraught with irritations, and my rose-tinted spectacles are getting darker, and more opaque with every day that passes. 

Namibia is beautiful, and challenging.  Often, I love it.  I’m lucky to travel as much as I do, and even in Windhoek, the light on the mountains is so magical that it takes my breath away every single morning, and every evening when I go home. I have learned so much; I dont’ think I’ll realise how much until I leave.  I also feel I’ve still got alot to achieve here. 

But I miss my friends.  I miss my family.  I miss home.  And it’s going to be another 14 months before I go back. 

Sometimes, I’m not sure I can last that long.