Change can be a good thing...

Hey all,
New country, new blog. At least that's what I tell myself. The truth? Are you truth handlers? Ok, well the truth is that I hadn't blogged for so long AND my last blog was set up for me by someone who probably used settings she would immediately recall, but that I could not, that I couldn't remember my password. So here we are, starting afresh. For those of you who care and have a yearning for historical context, you can always go back and read about my life in Japan at www.mezlamb.blogspot.com hmmm, that doesn't look right, but oh well, I'm sure someone out there still has a link (H).

Anywho, starting again like this in a new country seems fitting.

I can't say how often I will get to blogging. I can't even be sure anyone will read this, but as one die-hard blogger once said, the blog is more for yourself than for others. So, on that note:

Dear Diary,

Well, this past week has contained moments of frustration, prolonged periods of tweedum (boredom is boring) and the occassional moment of insight. I won't start from the beginning exactly, because for those of you who are familiar with my facebook page, the photos of my previous exploits should pretty much bring you up to speed.

Last Friday night started out in a fairly regular fashion. Having just finished a rather pointlessly tense day at work (work is not so great at the moment, but I'll save that for another post), I decided the best thing to do, considering the uncharacteristcally bright, sunny, warm Scottish evening, was to go for a run. In yet further uncharacteristic fashion, Stu decided to join me. He's not much for the running. Off we go. The weather is so nice, I opt for shorts and t-shirt instead of the usual trackies and hoody. Blah blah blah, run run run, occassional glance behind to see Stu panting behind, (and then when he realises I'm looking, plaster on a brave "I'm loving this" face that barely masks the pain of his lost masculinity). Sorry Stu, but we both know it. We're running through a field that borders the seafront, it's really quite picturesque. Then, as I sense that Stu might be slightly over it (he's about 50 metres behind having slowed to a clod-kicking walk), I turn around and tell him that if he wants, he should head back and I'll meet him at home. As I say the words, and read the pure relief on his face, I reach into my pocket for out house keys ...