I know, I KNOW.

Dang.

There was the call from Singapore, Ren saying: “...and by the way, when are you going to update your blog?” and then there was the text from Nai, saying: “Am Haha-ing around your area. Would love to Haha with you too if you are not busy updating your blog. Haha.” And me too, the internalised blog guilt, and every passing day making it harder to catch up.

There has been so much, and so fast, and everything all at one go, and so little sleep, not least because no matter what time I go to bed on the weekends—for example, at four in the morning, having walked home from Gray’s Inn Road after fondue night in Islington—I wake up at eight in the morning, discombobulated, wondering if I’m late for work. But we like it a lot, work; life; boys; the boy; London; Paris; invitations to Beirut; Finchley, yes, we even like Finchley, and the one-hour commute gets shorter every day; fondue; the gang; kisses; walks; daily phone calls; climbing out the window to smoke on the rooftop; Dan speaking to me in Chinese and then subtitling himself, softer, in English; Laureen in town; drop-ins for dinner; Chinese New Year parties; Peking duck; vegetarian wontons; a whole celebration tin of White Rabbits; Borough Market two weekends in a row; orange-cardamom truffles; ginger-honey truffles; baked mushrooms stuffed with Stilton; green salads; purple salads; strawberries macerated in mint and Cointreau; sausages and mash, and the glorious kitsch of the New Piccadilly; coffees and hot panini on wet Sundays, and watching the rain drip-drip-drip outside Bar Italia; and most nights reason to lean back in a chair and say “Shit, life is good.” Some days it even seems like spring is here, almost, so close you might kiss it.

“We appreciate having your sunny disposition,” my boss said the other day, and when I told my mother this over the phone, she said: “Yes, you do have a funny disposition.”