I actually have a perverse appreciation for the winter months in Britain.
I kind of like the cold and wet. And in more than a 'If it wasn't for Monday mornings Friday night wouldn't be so good' kind of way either.
Although I suppose it's easy saying that having only left thirty five degrees behind on Tuesday. Ask me again in the middle of January.
This morning was the first morning since returning that I haven't woken up thinking I was still in Bangkok. Something about that city infected my brain I think.
Reading the Johnny Nemo collection I bought this weekend, and listening to Jack Johnson.
Sundays are good.
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