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Eight months and fifteen countries later, HELO CYMRU, RWY’N CARTREF.

Kudos to me for not even using Google Translate for that sentence; do I get to be on S4C yet?!

According to the Apple Weather app, it’s 4ºC outside which is absolutely absurd given that said app is also telling me that it’s 26ºC back in Kerala. This time four days ago I was over there in the baking heat trawling store after store trying to find a sensible pair of shoes for the flight home (because Havaiianas just ain’t gonna cut it for UK winter) and now I’m wearing a scarf and hat indoors. Really, what is weather?!

I think know I’m still jetlagged, so please do forgive me if this just comes off as nonsensical rambling. What’s new, huh?

Anyway, for those who aren’t fluent or semi-fluent or ‘I did GCSE and can discuss smoking and cancer’ type of fluent in Welsh, that little sentence up there that kind of looks like I’ve let my 2-year old niece loose on my keyboard says Hey Wales, I’m home. Because yep, you guessed it, I AM HOME.

And I could not be less enthusiastic about it.

A few days ago I wrote this post about coming home and despite secretly hoping and praying that I’d be proved wrong about all of my grumblings and complaints about what it would be like to come back, so far I’ve been spot on! Which makes me sad.

I didn’t want to be right.

But true to form absolutely everybody I came into contact with at Heathrow looked like they wanted to throw me in front of a bus, I had to sell a kidney to afford a bottle of water (£1.99 for 500ml – WTF?!) at the WHSmith in Terminal 3 and it is effing cold.

And the confusing money situation?

Well, I’m slightly embarrassed to retell this tale but while trying to purchase aforementioned bottle of water (lemon and lime flavoured Volvic in case you were wondering) at the self-service machine, I took out the fiver I’d been keeping hidden away in my purse for the past 8 months in anticipatiin of this very moment.  Naturally the machine thought it’d be a funny bugger and spit it out not once, not twice but three times.

So I turned to the bloke behind the kiosk and in my dishevelled and confused ‘I’ve just got back to the country and have had 3 hours of sleep in 2 days’ state, I asked him if my fiver was still valid because – and I quote – “We have that funny plastic money now, right?”

He laughed. Oh, did he laugh!

And I felt like a right donut. Because as it turns out we don’t have the same kind of efficiency and speed when it comes to demonetising old money as India does, and those ‘funny plastic’ fivers aren’t a regular thing just yet. At least now I know! And maybe from now on I’ll just stick to paying with card…