Home sweet home

To the smell of vegetarian lasagne as I walked in the door, and my pink ug-boots with the fleecey lining and the prospect of a night in my precious futon instead of that nightmare of a bed at Frank's that always makes me feel like the saveloy in the american hot dog. It did feel like home when I walked in. Tauranga does not.

Apart from the very long journey south today, the only escapade of any note was my cup of tea with the ex-boyfriend's mother. Who I really like. Her and her husband opened their home to me from day one (well after that initial period camping up the Coromandel where I was convinced she had a broomstick for transportation parked up in their tent). Frank has been giving me a hard time for months about going to see her, because apparently every time he runs in to her she is just about in tears because I haven't visited. I know she thought a lot of me, and would be disappointed I hadn't stayed in touch. I think for a long time she probably thought, like a lot of people, that we'd end up back together. Unfortunately today I discovered that her attachment to me meant I would be made privy to information on the new girlfriend. I'm talking a lot of detail. Detail I didn't need. Okay so I'm a little curious...and feel some perverse pleasure in hearing that she smokes and has weird dietary habits (she's a personal trainer!) and that he, HE doesn't think it will last. But my favourite saying is "he's not my problem anymore". Of course I'd rather he just got happily married to some nice little Korean girl and had a couple of kids then hear about him being unhappy.

Here is the significant man in my life at the moment. He wants to know why me and all my friends can't just get jobs in Tauranga. Cue: awwwwwww.