June, you kicked my ass. First up there were those ten days in Italy. Sun. Crumbly Umbrian villas high in the hills. Tartufo and cinghiale. Friends and the MrMr. Rosato Frizzante. Birra Moretti. Toscana. Firenze. Uffizi. Botticelli. The Primavera. Wowsers. Jeepers.
And then. No more than a day (spent flying across the world) later. Sydney. The place of a shy-spent infancy, tweendom and youth. There was a high school reunion. It was hysterical for all the right – and wrong – reasons. Confessions. Apologies. Giggles. Stories. Teachers who didn’t remember my name.
I went to the beach (a lot). I drank tea and ate toast with Nadia. I watched her sing. She gave us goosebumps and made everyone cry (in a good way). I became Facebook friends with my English teacher and fell in love with her all over again under the winter sun at Manly Wharf.
I looked at some paintings at art galleries and nursed a schooner or five with my sister. I went to the Blue Mountains with Sonnie and had a few harsh words for her recalcitrant daschund (they fell on cute ears).
I dined. A lot. Alone and not. Familiy! Family! Family! Friends! Friends! Friends! I hung out with Christina. My BFF from way back when and the first person who changed my life so markedly that I still wear the scars with pride.
I got sick. I lost my voice. I came home. London. So far and yet so far. Jet-lagged. Brimming.
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All images © Kate McAuley