Ready to leave the island I think...

I'm sure it would seem perverse to those of you suffering that familiar descent into gloomy English winter that I could be lying here in the hot sunshine on the lawn outside my fancy condo on a desert island, thinking that I can't wait to get out of here.

Perhaps it's just one of those days. We were supposed to be off this project by now, but due to an administrative mix-up we're here for another week. And not that the prospect of another 40 hours of fennel killing time doesn't fill me with delight, but I think we're all just ready for the next thing now.

But maybe I should focus on my achievements instead of my frustrations.

For example, our weekend in Los Angeles. I'm incredibly proud that I managed to negotiate LA traffic in our rental car without crashing even once (as long as you don't count a slight non-incident downtown -I never did understand the logic of trees in car parks). I learned that you probably shouldn't try and drive in a big city without a road map of some sort. I managed to persuade my friends to come with me for a drink in the bar where Mulder first met Kurtzweil in the first Movie. We stayed at a hostel in Venice Beach with all the skaters and weirdos, just like in Tony Hawks Pro Skater 2. I witnessed my first real live bar fight, in a trendy bar in Orange County, where we watched a girl band play embarrassingly bad music.

And as far as my fennel-killing career is concerned, I have survived a temperature-rise into the high 80s over the past couple of days without *too much* complaint (in my opinion anyway). I am growing more tolerant of the swimming pool-flavoured water that comes out of our taps, and more adept at avoiding cactus spines. I have seen a couple of endemic island foxes on the roadside, and eaten lots of fresh venison steak and burgers hunted by our friend Charlie.

Meanwhile, the world outside goes on. Siblings celebrate birthdays. Friends have babies. I find myself apparently the only person in a thousand-mile radius who's ever even heard of the pop star and Brewin family idol whose sudden and shocking death brings me to tears. I am comfortable enough here with these people, in this place, doing this work, but it's not home. To borrow a clumsy-sounding Timor phrase (it probably sounds better in Hebrew), "Yes, I am happy, but I don't feel myself complete". I guess I'm looking forward to looking back on this experience from the place that just fits me better.