In which the flies and sand storms return, and the sense of the beginning of the end lingers..
In which Ramadan ends, and forty degree weather falls, as though from the sky
In which I drag myself back here to clear the cobwebs and to begin again, for the umpteenth time
In which my 42nd circuit around the sun begins without much fanfare, and I realise I need to rethink, well, everything.
In which a long trip up north brings a dose of conspiracy theories, Yemeni tea and in which begin walking and running again...
In which we finally meet L, survive a harrowing few days and breathe a little as the Calvary arrives...
In which an odd holiday season comes and goes and the reality of work is strangely comforting...
A first Christmas, and a sense of déjà vu
In which I reflect on language, and inadvertently become the poster boy for not wearing a jacket
In which I finally get to pause for breath after a manic past few weeks...
In which I somehow end up surviving (in my gilded prison) for a hundred days and counting...
In which the peculiar fragility, and persistence, of hope is exposed