Category Archive

I’ve just found out something quite worrying.

You see I’d been waiting for the summer to warm up.  Truth is I’ve recently resorted to switching on the central heating in the evenings.

Last year I got back into the UK last year after three summers away.  Because summer was well underway by the time I arrived and because everyone was moaning about the weather I never really noticed the temperature.

But now, having gone through the winter, I’ve been waiting for warmth.  So far the temperature has rallied around the mid to late teens centigrade.  But we should be knocking on well into the twenties right?  It will get warmer soon.  Won’t it?

Finally, I gave up expecting heat and actually Googled to find what the average temperature should be.

Turns out this is entirely normal.  Worse still, in August, potentially the hottest month, we’re still not going to get anything much higher than 20 degrees.  Whaaaat?

Before going away I can recall sweating in the office in the summer.  I can remember swimming in the North Sea.  I can recall camping using only a cheap Tescos sleeping bag inside a cheap Tesco’s tent.

In this heat?  Incredible.

In Hanoi it regularly reached 40 degrees in the summer but because I hid in air conditioning I am not sure I ever really aclimatised. 

I think It was Nicaragua that ruined me.  In much the same temperature I had only fans to keep me from meltdown.  Maan it was hot. 

But I got used to cold showers and sweating and grabbing my hat whenever I went out.  I got used to sleeping on top of the bed rather than under sheets.  I even got used to ice in beer.

Now I feel like as a result of that spell in Central Amercia my thermostat has been permanently hotwired.  Maybe I’ll never be warm in the UK again.

This current temperature still feels like early Spring at best.

Sometime, way, way, way ago – I blogged that I had quit smoking.

If the tone is somewhat smug then it shouldn’t be. The truth is it didn’t last.

On my last night in Vietnam I smoked again. Then again in Nicaragua and back in Newcastle too.

Certainly I rarely smoked again at levels close to my earlier days in Hanoi when I was sucking down well over a pack a day. In fact, half the time in Central America I didn’t smoke at all. At one point I rationalised that just one cigar a week wouldn’t be too damaging.

No real hardship there – I found I could easily make the foot-long local specials last a week.

Also as someone who’d always been on the somewhat hefty side, being overseas was at first a blessing. In Vietnam I found that an upset stomach might not be pleasant but was an effective method of weight control. Couple that with a rice-based diet and the pounds just fell away.

But then, about the same time as my belly adapted, my taste buds we’re compelling me to seek out richer food. While my initial weight loss was stalling, I didn’t worry too much about weight gain. Surely the next bout of sickness would take care of it.

Vietnam ended and Nicaragua began. Boiled rice gave way to fried rice and beans and lots and lots of cheese. I must say I didn’t really notice it but I guess the weight started to really pile on. When you’re wearing sloppy shorts and t-shirts every day you’ve some way to go before they start to feel tight.

Before too long I was back in the UK and all those comfort foods I had missed. British food might be considered comparatively bland - but have you any idea the sheer quality of the ingredients compared to those in developing countries? It all tasted so good.

I was back to Embassy Number One cigarettes too after three years on local tabs and Marlboro lights.

Then there was something of a dawning. A bit run down I went to the doc’s. Occasionally dizzy and frequently breathless, paranoia made me wonder if I had brought back some horrible tropical lurgy.

After a stack of tests the answer was much more simple - I was just very unhealthy.

Certainly a step on the surgery’s scales made my eyes pop out. In all the time I was away – nearly three years in all - I hadn’t weighed myself. Ouch.

Christmas and New Year was the cut off. I haven’t smoked since January 1st. I know I’ve said this before but I feel like I have smoking licked. While I still have occasional cravings, they’re slowly giving way to a real revulsion at tobacco.

Weight loss has been slow – my dodgy scales suggest half a stone lost but their lack of accuracy might actually mean I’ve lost half that. But my diet has changed and I am feeling better for it. More fruit and veg – no more cooked brekkies or bacon sarnies from the staff canteen.

My holiday was tricky and I was far from well behaved calorie-wise but could have been worse. I arrived back Sunday and sat down with the diet books with the aim of getting serious.

In the meantime, while I have been regularly walking home the two and a half miles from work, sport remains too scary for now.  I’d like to start playing five-a-side again sometime soon though.

For the record this isn’t the start of some sort of horrible diet blog. Don’t expect any weight-loss updates – well not unless I am really successful and want to be smug about it. You won’t be seeing any pics of me demonstrating the new found roominess in my old trousers.

But, in between my rants, I also want this blog to continue to be something of a personal narrative and this feels like something I should bookmark.

And as far as life goes, mine seems to be at a crossroads healthwise. If I fail this time then it feels like I’ll shortly be too far gone to ever get it right.

Hopefully, the acceptance of this fact should be enough to ensure I succeed.

So I go into the Peninsula on Chillingham Road. For some reason whenever I start to get better after illness I crave Chinese food.

I swear I haven’t been in there for 10 years at least. Not since I last left Heaton.  Not since Vietnam.   Not since Nicaragua.

I order. Sweet and sour pork and chicken chow mein.

I pay and then nip out to the DVD shop while my food is cooked.

Less than 15 minutes later I am back and a bag of food is waiting for me.

The owner hands it to me and says: “You been away then?”

Prompted by this recent post and this one. (Plus this one from some time ago)

For some reason I am becoming increasingly nostalgic about my previous adventures (and it’s not just me).

Sitting in our snug Heaton flat we’ve been recalling the madness of Vietnam and, later, Nicaragua. 

But I am aware that, sadly, the memory is fading. Despite the blogs and the Flickr account there are some non-documented events that are all but gone.

The journey to the airport, for example, is getting hazy but there are still parts that remain vivid.

I don’t remember getting picked up but I do recall sitting in the back of a cab with the feeling that “this was it” spreading over me.

Despite being well used to the route, I tried to drink as much of it in as possible. The conical hatted ladies, which had long since just become part of my wallpaper, were once more noted. So too was the general traffic chaos and the long thin houses – particularly the posher ones by Truc Bac.

Then when we pulled away from the city I relaxed. I recalled that when I had first entered the country as a tourist, four years earlier, everywhere was rice fields. During my time there industry was making an increased impact on the environment.

The driver turned on the music. It was Vina Pop. That sickly, high energy, New Century style ick. It had been the soundtrack to so many minibus rides when I had cursed it.

Today though I asked him to turn it up. Then up again. We were laughing at the noise. He lit a cigarette and offered me one. Despite the fact that I had officially quit I accepted a Vinataba – ‘Nam’s cheap and rough smoke of choice.

I sat back. The Vina Boys belting on the radio, knocking Vinataba ash out the window and I smiled as the driver chuckled.

I texted everyone I knew back in Hanoi and described the scene, ending with “What a f*cking country”.

Before long I was at the airport. I recall ridiculously slow progress through Hanoi’s always stern customs but between us we cracked a few smiles as they puzzled over some visa details.

Then I was gone.

I know I am not the only one who has left to be haunted by my Vietnam memories and finding it hard to let go. I find myself once more scanning all the expat blogs and checking out Flickr pics (like these fabulous shots). I also keep wondering what happened to all those KOTO kids.

This weekend will see the KOTO Bike Ride – the first time in four years when it isn’t me organising it.

So. Anyone else want to share their Leaving Vietnam stories. How about you, you, you, you, you, you and you?  Any thoughts on what it is that makes Vietnam just so hard to shake off?

From Sam Brook’s Twitter  feed:

34 people in queue for coffee at St Pancras

Something tells me we’re starting to go a little over the top with the coffee thing.  I love coffee.  I buy takeaway.  I even buy beans and grind them.

But if there is a phrase that really bugs me it’s:

“Oh I just can’t start my day unless I’ve had a coffee.”

Come on.  It’s a relatively small amout of caffeine.  That’s all. It’s not alcohol.  It’s not nicotine.  It’s not cocaine.  It’s not heroin.

But, I guess that’s the significance of that Twitter quote, obviously if people are willing to queue that long then they really do HAVE TO HAVE A COFFEE. 

Or maybe its just the whole British loving to queue thing.   For some reason, in the three years since I’ve been away, queue dynamics have hit a whole new level with line pens popping up everywhere from M & S to Greggs. 

Coffee, queues, etc.   Man, we’re such suckers.

I was lucky enough to secure employment relatively quickly after returning home.

But I am also aware, reading the blogs of other VSO returnees, that not everyone has been so lucky.

I said it while I was initially floundering, but it is a shame that the experience of working overseas and volunteering isn’t more highly valued by employers.  It says a great deal, I believe, about our little island mindset.

But without exception, the biggest complaint of all of us, is that HR departments no longer reply to unsuccesful applicants. 

Apply for a job and you can find yourself waiting around for weeks before it eventually sinks in that you haven’t made the short list.  This is not an on-spec request for employment I am talking about - this is an application for an advertised post.

Just when did this become common practice? Every business now, it appears, behaves this way.

Surely the least an organisation can do is to let people know that they won’t be called for interview.  Sure, it’s good to save paperwork but that is what email is for, isn’t it?

Either way, it sucks.  If there is any worse feeling than a rejection letter it’s the slow creeping feeling that you didn’t make the grade (but the desperate hope that perhaps there’s just been a delay).

It is a horrible situation and an awful way to treat anyone.

I have been enjoying using www.lovefilm.com.

For the uninitiated you sign up. You list all the films you ever wanted to see. You pays your money and you slowly work your way through the movies.

They send you the DVD. You watch it. Return it to its envelope and then drop it in a post box. Then they send you the next one.

Simple.

So anyway, I have been watching all the movies I’d always meant to.

I recently watched Kes. As part of the ourwoman’s introduction to Tyneside we also rented Get Carter. We head to Dublin for a short break soon so I have added The Van. It’s been fun.

On the list also was Carla’s Song. A story of a Nicaraguan refugee who finds herself in Scotland before returning to her homeland to face her demons (pic above).

I had been meaning to watch it for years. Directed by Ken Loach. Filmed in my old Nica stamping ground. Starring Robert Carlyle. What’s not to like?

It’s a film split into two. Starting in Scotland and finishing in Nicaragua. The Glasgow bit was good. Then the Nica bit started up…

We laughed straight off - the first thing we heard when they touched down was “Managua, Managua, Managua,” the cry of the bus conductors heading to the capital. We’d take the bus from Granada every couple of weeks to luxuriate in the air con of the cinema.

Then the main characters settle into their hotel room. Just as Carlyle was remarking how nice it was nice, the lights went out. That happened to us a lot too.

While suffering the Newcastle November cold, the warmth of Nicaragua looked so inviting. Later, when the action switched to Esteli we recognised the town centre murals. Sandino, whose image cropped up every few minutes, seemed like an old friend.

We enjoyed it tremendously. It also prompted us to ask: “What the hell happened to us there?”

In some ways, I am still at a loss as to why our time there didn’t work. In all honesty I am a little ashamed. Sure we were somewhat isolated and under employed but the wonder of the place should have been enough to keep us interested. Shouldn’t it?

Either way we started thinking up the little things we missed. The kids of Calle Arsenal, Tona Beer, mojitos at “the Spanish place”, going up Volcan Mombacho, swimming in Laguna de Apoyo, Eskimo ice creams. Café Freezes in EuroCafe, the Nica-fayre at that buffet place just off the market square. Then there’s gallo pinto, ceviche, picos, rojita, Flora De Cana,  breakfasts at Ed’s or Kathy’s.

Anyway, I’d recommend Carla’s Song, and Nicaragua to anyone. We enjoyed them both. Certainly we should have enjoyed the latter much more than we did.

But on a Friday evening with temperatures dropping to zero outside, curled up on the sofa it was a beautiful piece of escapism that jogged some very welcome memories.

Sign up to www.lovefilm.com here and, shamefully, I get a kickback.

On a handful of occasions, when I was working in Vietnam, I’d find somebody waiting behind to talk to me after I had made my “Story of KOTO” speech to a tour group.

If I had pitched it just right and mixed enough laughs with enough lump-in-the-throat bits, then people would donate to the cause. Often too an after-talk visitor would want to speak to me personally.

Invariably they’d be old. Quite often they’d push their donation directly into my hand. On more than one occasion they didn’t understand the local money, or inflation or whatever. Their gift, which I am sure they thought was generous, turned out to be only a few pennies. It was gratefully received all the same.

But they’d stayed to talk to me for a reason. They’d say something kind in an oldies way. They’d thank me for the speech and tell me to “keep it up” and use words like “marvellous” a lot.

What they didn’t know, and what they couldn’t grasp, was just how easy it was.  Their praise was nice to hear but unnecessary. Because what I did wasn’t hard.

You want to make the commute to work fun? Weave your way through a million scooters on the back of a motorbike. Want to find some motivation? How about 60 kids being put on the streets if you fail? Want to feel wanted and appreciated? Work with Vietnamese people.

I’ve always maintained that the hardest part to working for a living is not the work itself. It’s the grind. It’s knowing that your holiday is only four weeks a year. Or your days off number a measly two out of seven.

So now I am doing the hard stuff. The number one bus to work. The cold. The weekend heralded with a whoop on Friday night, only to be commiserated as “almost gone” by Sunday.

I remember when I first started my working life after college. I kept starting sentences with: “This summer I’m going to…”, before letting the line die as I remembered that this summer I’d be working.

I reckon it took me five years to be work institutionalised. To feel that two out of seven, and four weeks a year were not so much ok, as just the way it was and eminently do-able. Now I have to relearn the old work ethics.

And all of that is what I told the old dears who said kind things to me at KOTO. The nine to five (and the rest) grinders are the heroes.

It’s good to be home. It would be churlish to say that it feels tough. It’s not. Just more mundane. I’ve been spoilt.

Spoilt by the sensory overload of Vietnam and the lazy days of Nicaragua.

To take a positive from all of this: To anyone reading this who might have thought of volunteering overseas but reckon they couldn’t stick it….

Just do it. What you already do is harder. Volunteering is easy.

Voluntary Service Overseas details here.

I got a text late last night.

Would I like to come to my niece’s third birthday party?

I agreed. It was only later than I realised the significance of the date.

You see, my beautiful niece was born while I was in the skies on my way to Vietnam. I actually checked my email in Singapore before the last leg. There it was. I was an uncle for the first time and my VSO stint was about to begin.

Three years on I am now an uncle four times over. Hanoi and Granada are behind me and I’m back in the North East of England.

In the meantime I have enjoyed the time of my life. It would be too contrived to say I am a different person. But anyone would change to some degree under the same circumstances.

I now know what it is to feel lucky. It was a sentiment I’d voiced before my trip, without ever really meaning it. It’s not just that I have more than most people in developing countries, it’s how hard they work to get just a fraction of my relative riches. My life has been easy.

Settling back down in the North East, I’m in the process of moving into a somewhat cosy little flat. I’m buying a small, second hand car. Hardly high living.

Talking about “what next” we’ve discussed getting back to normality.

But normality will never really be normal again. Even our fairly frugal existence, we reminded ourselves, will feel like luxury.

Just as the adventure was so fantastical, much of what I took for granted back in the UK will now be enjoyed with a new wonder and gratitude.

Three years on, I even feel lucky to feel lucky.

* By chance I also received an email today from a blog reader who had seen the video below and she told me that it inspired her enough to sit her kids down to watch it too. I watched it once more and despite wincing at my own horrific voice over, it made me smile all over again. I hope that what I experienced in Hanoi will never ever leave me.

There is still nothing concrete on the job front. I’m still unemployed.

However, wheels do seem to be in motion. I can be relatively confident that, by this time next week, my future employment-wise should be settled.  All in all I am feeling a lot more optimistic than after my first attempt to get back into the UK workforce.

Anyway, earlier this week, as I tired of sitting around waiting for job news, I took myself off for a walk in Tynemouth .  One of the best features of having spent so long away from your own region is discovering it all again.  It might be easy to write all this off as schmaltz, but I had honestly never realised just how beautiful the North East is.

The pics above and below were taken as I wandered.  The full set is here.

Once more carrying on the theme of late night Skype chats about what is to be expected of Newcastle, it wasn’t so surprising that Greggs eventually came up in conversation.

For the uninitiated, wiki it and you get this info:

Greggs Plc is the largest specialist retail bakery chain in the United Kingdom. It is based in Newcastle upon Tyne, England and is quoted on the London Stock Exchange.

Put simply it sells all things pastry and the odd bit of bread too.

Everyone here in the North East takes Greggs for granted. It’s always been around. It’s where your first pasty came from and it’s never let you down when you’ve wanted some cheap stodge ever since.

But at some point it seemed to explode. Suddenly it wasn’t just in Newcastle but right across the UK. Also the dirty blue turquoise branding we had grown up with was replaced by a new swish orange and blue look.

This came with a Soup Nazi style queuing system that regularly proves its worth during hours of peak pie demand.

But anyway, in order to forward info to my Skype chatting friend, I Googled Greggs and the wiki explanation above came up. I kept on reading and noticed this nugget of information:

Actress and model Milla Jovovich is a well-known fan of the store and its pasties, and has gone on record to say she would be willing to become the “face of Greggs” in a new marketing campaign if the firm approached her, though no such approach has yet been made.

Now, as you know, I have been out of town a while so this is probably common knowledge I missed but…WOW.

Anyway, a little more searching and you find out who got her hooked:

Hollywood actress Milla Jovovich was introduced to the wonders of a Greggs bridie by her Geordie boyfriend, film director Paul Anderson. The star of the movie Resident Evil said: “I was told I hadn’t lived till I’d tried a Greggs pasty. I’ve just fallen in love with them.”

Elsewhere on the net there is talk of pie-loving-Milla becoming the official Greggs pastry-pusher but it appears never to have happened although she actually seems to be touting for the job. This is from Aussie paper, The Age:

Not for the first time, Milla Jovovich is dreamily endorsing the pleasures of stodgy British fast food. Recalling regular visits to the UK with her boyfriend, Geordie fi lm director Paul Anderson, the preternaturally beautiful Ukranian actress and model swoons about the appeal of a Greggs cheese-and-onion pasty.

“Whenever I’m there, the first thing I do is buy one. Oh my God, I love them. I have often said I would be the face of Greggs,” she says, “but they haven’t approached me yet.” Note to the pasty promotions staff: sort yourselves out. Who wouldn’t love to see the exotic Jovovich with her bankable mouth wrapped round a steaming pasty?

Well for someone who otherwise has never quite understood the concept of food porn there is an image that does it for me entirely. But the journo is right, Greggs haven’t bitten. One quick look at the website sees it sadly Jovovich-free.

Personally I relish the opportunity to blame my descent into complete obesity on Miss Mila and her persuasive pie pedaling.

For the record the pic above is from flickerererer Southern_Comfort who is not alone as a serial Greggs snapper. He’s part of Greggs Pool that has 37 members including blue me who made this work of genius.

Elsewhere a quick trawl on Facebook finds the Greggs Appreciation Society

Greggs, we salute you.

The best thing about travelling?

Well it doesn’t work for short trips, but if you’ve been away for as long as I have, then you see it all very differently when you return.

I am rediscovering how beautiful Tyneside as I see it with fresh eyes.

In the meantime, I’ve been talking a lot over Skype to ourwoman who is following me soon. Our conversations often take the form of the places we’ll go and what we’ll see when she arrives.

Searching for links to pics to send, I came across this set by Ray Byrne. They are beautiful. I am truly jealous of his talent.

The shot above is also one of Amble Harbour, a place I spent many of my summer holidays as a kid.

I’m looking forward to getting out to the North East coast for bracing walks. After Vietnam and Nicaragua the air seems so pleasingly sharp and cool. Summer is not how I remember it.

Believe it or not, I’m cold.

So, I have been out of the country for three years.

In that time I have been pretty much cut off from UK change. Not entirely perhaps, there has been a couple of flying visits, I have had a few emails from friends and family and, not forgetting of course, there is the internet.

But you still miss out on so much.

Some things did sneak through. The Libertines for example had started to make ripples in the music scene before I left. At the head of them was singer songwriter Pete Doherty.

Now for reasons I only have the slightest grasp of, the very mention of his name makes otherwise laid back people all but spit on the ground in disgust. Okay so I know the basics Kate Moss, drugs etc. But I have honestly never so much as seen him on TV. I’ve only heard the music.

Talking of music, it all sounds a bit odd. We’d already started to turn the corner from a boyband low before I split and that had to be a good. When I was leaving the Scissor Sisters and The Streets were huge.

I come back and to my ears everything sounds like the aforementioned. Either camp, glam and overproduced or cock-er-ney, cor blimey guvnor stuff. Lily Allen, her music rather than her celebrity persona, managed to appear on my radar but I return home to find that she too has a few sound-a-likes.

Somewhere along the line Oasis seem to have become loved again. I heard the Killers while I was away and I return to find they made it from heroes to zeros inside a couple of albums. Thank God The Darkness have gone.

On TV I keep coming across Russell Brand and I can’t work out why. He’s seems as omnipotent as he does talentless and downright unlikeable.

Honestly, I turn my back for a minute and they’re allowing tossers on TV. Where did he come from? And why did they let him near a mic? I don’t get it. What is his talent?

Other changes are already entirely accepted practice. The cigarette laws may be comparatively new but what is amazing is just how widely they are adhered too. I went to a football reserve game and stood on an old fashioned terraces the other night. I looked around and there wasn’t a single furtive smoker. I was amazed.

Nobody claimed ignorance and smoked and had to be told to put it out. Everyone is either scared or have bought into it 100%. I also recently visited the once smokey Chillingham Arms Pub and it was like some European-style coffee shop. I’m almost sure that is a good thing.

Other changes? Polish people - ie smiley, well educated, motivated people working in places that used to employ pissed off, rude, British kids with less than limited enthusiasm.

Plus lots more Asian kids in the Universities. Fabulous. Newcastle could never really claim to be multicultural, but I like this. It makes the whole place seem to much more colorful. More international. Less dowdy and stuck in its ways.

There are other smaller changes. Chip and Pin is a new one on me but seems both easier and better. I am embarrased to admit that I actually had to Google to find out what a BlackBerry is.

Everyone is a little more eco aware which also has to be admired. Is there less SUVs on the road or am I imagining it?

Of course we have a new PM and that makes it easier for me to come home. But I also like the low profile of Brown. I’ve often argued that the media is celebrity obsessed and overlooks politics and hard news. But it changed. Blair became the celebrity. Now I am actually enjoying just how invisible the government is.

Possibly in reaction to all this, the political blogosphere now has right wing bloggers too in what was previously a predominantly left wing domain. I’d begrudgingly admit that should be positive, although there seems to be less debate and more squabbling.

Terms like astroturfing and sockpuppet seem to prevail and there’s much more anonymous posting and general behaviour that I only ever used to see on football message boards.

Talking of football, my team are getting in on the act. New owner, new chairman, new manager, new captain, new players and Kieron Dyer, football’s premier nob head, is gone.

Socially speaking, nights out are actually being organised using Facebook.

There will no doubt be a million more changes that I will chance upon and I guess they will form the bulk of this blog’s content.

Strangely I don’t feel like I missed out. I mean, Pete Doherty, Lily Allen and Russell Brand - who needs that? But discovering it all at once and without the drip drip of media is a little strange.

Having such little pop cultural understanding feels odd. This is how high court judges must feel.

But I am comfortable with being home and weighing it all up, for the most part, the changes, the ones that really matter, seem to be for the best.

Maybe I am yet to encounter and deal with more subtle changes.

While carbon footprint seems to be the latest buzz term, I accidentally seem to have fallen into sub-eco ways without really trying.

You see the thing is, three years ago I got rid of pretty much everything. A trunk full of CDs went to parents, as did a few pots and pans but the rest was dispersed between friends, dumps and charity shops.

It was so much harder than I thought it would be. Not mentally - I was glad to become possessionless, it was a strangely pleasant feeling. But the physical task of clearing away was hard, hard work.

A van was hired - there were at least a dozen trips to the tip. There were so many leads to electrical items long since gone. Boxes for items that never needed repackaging. Paperwork by the boxful that I thought, one day I might just need but, in the end, never did.

And it all went. Very slowly. In fact the evening before I was due to fly I was still emptying that house. Its new owner was due in the next day.

On a much smaller scale I repeated the scenario when I left Hanoi. My hair clippers, for example, are now the front line defence for Blue Dragon’s war on head lice. No doubt my speakers are pumping out sickly Vietnamese love songs in a KOTO office somewhere.

Of the rest, well that is easy. Sheer poverty promotes recycling in Hanoi. I dumped bags on the street and five minutes later there was a crowd of conical-hatted ladies cooing over their find. My big western sized clothes are, no doubt, already reduced by buzzing sewing machines to Vina sizes.

Eventually I left - the possessions I still owned in two large bags.

Leaving Granada was less difficult. There’s a happy kiddie with a new bicycle. Our Spanish teacher has two new hammocks, a blackboard and a fan. A second hand clothes shop received a donation.

And here I am again back in Newcastle.

Now one of the strange things about leaving behind consumerist modern Britain is you become the worst of the breed when you return. All those things you couldn’t buy when abroad you rush to buy. So far: a new mobile phone, headphones for my Ipod and a camera.

Soon it will be a car too (not so green there).

But I’m determined there will be a point where I draw the line. I may be settling here for the foreseeable future but I refuse to bog myself down again with crap I don’t need.

That big box of CDs, that are still at my parents, can go. It’s all on my Ipod anyway. New music purchases can be downloaded. So can films. Books can be borrowed and then swapped.

While the fact that I am reducing my carbon footprint maybe just a coincidence, perhaps I have happened upon a better way of living. Maybe “light living” is the way to go.

Less stuff, less money spent, less debt - well it makes our lives just a little lighter. More mobile. More free and I think, ultimately, happier.

We’ll see how I am going in six months or so.

When we decided to leave Nicaragua, the plan was hatched to continue to stay only as long as it took to get a job elsewhere. After all, it was cheap living and we could spend our days perusing the internet for that perfect position.

But then one came up. In my home town and the more I thought about it the more it made sense. Suddenly, with the possibility of working back in the Toon, came thoughts of all those things that I realised I did miss after all.

So the job was dutifully applied for. One of those long long application forms that says: “Do not attach your CV“. In other words: “We think we have thought of every single question it’ll take to find out everything about you. Gosh there’s quite a lot but would you mind awfully answering them all?”

And so I did. And heard nothing for a while.

Then I got an email. I had made the shortlist. I hinted that a Skype interview might be an idea but then, well,I realised it didn’t exactly show enthusiasm so I volunteered to fly home.

Long story short: several thousands miles, several hundred pounds and one interview later. I didn’t get the job.

They were good enough to give me feedback. Seems they think I am too much of a free spirit. I’m a little out of the loop too, apparently.

Which is all a little annoying because pre my recent adventures I had a dozen years of experience and office time.

I’d also just spent three years learning more about the possibilities of PR than all those other years combined.

I’d spent time dealing with CNN, BBC World, the Herald Tribune, Lonely Planet, ABC, the (then) British Deputy Prime Minister, various Australian cabinet members, the Vietnamese Communist Party, the New York Times, and even, on one occasion, the White House.

But they wanted someone who knew the business editor of the local paper.

Deep breath. Calm thoughts.

So I’m home now. No point flying back and spending even more of my diminishing cash.

I must admit I hadn’t really anticipated failure in the job interview. My mind had been racing ahead - a flat, a car, a season ticket for the football. The nine to five again but making the weekends count too.

I always always always, enjoy the most incredible luck. A new job? No problem.

And now here I am - hemorrhaging cash on British prices and endlessly job hunting.

There’s one post I am very interested in that is still waiting to shortlist. There is another one on the horizon that sounds great too. But, for the most part people seem to have gone on their summer holidays. The PR industry, it appears, is largely gone till September.

I’ve spent only two weeks on the dole in my entire working life so this is all starting to get just a little bit scarey. But something will come up soon, right? Right?

* Pic is the little men from the Haymarket area in Newcastle - which have also become my new banner. The Tyne Bridge just seemed too cliche. When I last lived in Newcastle they appeared, having been expensively created. They were universally hated and it seemed they’d soon be gone. But I’m back and they, apparently, never went away. I think people might just be warming to them. I think I am.

I thought this would never happen.

It seemed like I’d be on my adventures for the rest of my days.

And then, all of a sudden, it seemed like the best option.

Our last stop, Nicaragua, unfortunately just didn’t work out. Underemployed in my volunteer post and with a non-existent social life it was time to move again.

Then suddenly I wanted that move to be to Newcastle. Back home babies were being born. I hadn’t met three people in my own family.

I wanted stability. I wanted normality. I wanted to be back with old friends I could ring for a beer. I wanted fish and chips. I wanted cold, and sometimes even wet.

So I am back here for the time being at least.  Ourwoman follows soon.

Oh and I have my Newcastle United season ticket back.

Now I just need a job. More about that soon.