I would love to tell you that I am one of those glamorous, effortless travellers who glides off the plane looking all elegant and fresh and glowing, shaking off time zones as if I were flicking an impertinent speck of dust from my immaculate cashmere coat.
Alas, I am not one of those travellers.
I am one of those travellers who slumps bleary-eyed off the plane in a sweaty haze, looking as if I have washed my hair in chip fat (I haven't) and haven't slept a wink since I woke up 24 hours and 6000 miles earlier (I haven't).
Having wandered around like a zombie since my return, it has taken all my remaining strength to cobble together these few words for you. I think it only fair to warn you that tomorrow is unlikely to present a marked improvement. In fact, I'm beginning to think I should have scrounged a few more guest posts for this week, too, so that I could focus my energies exclusively on the wonder that is sleeping horizontally for the next few days. But a month of guest posting is possibly (ok, definitely) taking the piss.
All of which is to say, I may be around this week, or I may not. I may have profound and entertaining tales of family holiday dynamics and narrowly-averted map-related husband-stabbings to share with you, or I may go to bed at 8pm every night this week. Who knows. They say it takes a day per time zone to recover, and I have clocked up eight of those babies since Saturday afternoon, plus there is the small matter of returning to work to contend with (no Fourth of July holiday for me, you lucky American sods), so I suspect I will not be exactly at the top of my game.
So, we shall see. All I know for certain is that I really, really, really need to wash my hair. Like, now. And probably buy some white sunglasses, too.
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