The last few weeks have been a whilrwind.

A weekend in the UK, six days in Morrocco, home for three (Rasmus in Cairo), then off to Copenhagen for two days, over to the Netherlands for two and finally back home again.

I love travelling, I love all these places (especially Copenhagen, have I told you about my crazy love for that city?) and I had fun with all the different family and friends I got to catch up with.

But wow am I am relieved to be home.

I was sitting on the train on Sunday night, an hour delayed, rushing through dark Dutch fields towards Belgium and Brussels, and suddenly the thought of a regular schedule, evenings at home watching Friends and drinking whisky before bed, weekends in my own city, time to catch up on everything I’ve been putting off for the last month…

I felt so happy at the prospect I almost cried!

But then I got into the office on Tuesday (Monday was a crazy day involving 250 young demonstraters with red umbrellas) and couldn’t remember what on earth I’d been doing before I went away. And I got home last night and wondered the same thing. How did I fill my time? What were those important things I wanted to do?

It’s slowly coming back to me and the to-do list is growing as I remember everything I put aside at the beginning of October. And I’m also thinking this morning that the time to rest and recover and refocus is important too. I don’t need to rush into the next weeks, I should rather force myelf to slow down and enjoy them.

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