So I'm home, after two lovely weeks of holiday. I did so much. Went to Cornwall, went hiking here and there with my family, had a great time. The coast is so beautiful, the views spectacular. We relieved boredom at night by playing Road Rage on the console or watching Lord of the Rings, 1, 2, and 3. The days flew by so quickly, it was unbelievable.

Then I went for a rock concert at the Royal Albert Hall, alone, and it was a wonderful experience. Would have been perfect if I had someone with me, but it was nonetheless awesome.

The next day, slightly hungover, I went on a train ride to Manchester for a measly 5 hours just to visit Dan, who thought that I would be staying for the night. We had some confusion there, heh. Dan, I'm still waiting for those dumplings.

The day before I had to come home, we went shopping at The Oracle, and I went bonkers at Primark. Yes, I'm cheap. Whatever. We had a Dog Whisperer marathon at night, and I totally respect Cesar Millan. I'm going to get his book when I get the chance to do so.

And finally, the sad day came to leave England. My sister, my dad and I ended up playing Big Two the entire afternoon in some sort of bonding session whilst my mom sat at the living room playing with her iPhone. I guess it was a dysfunctional family moment. We had a really early dinner and we were off to the airport.

And here I am, home. Hot, jetlagged and swarmed by memories. Will I go back? Without a doubt. I'll need to work crazy hard for it though, and I will. God willing.