Holy balls it feels like ages since I last posted! Thanks for hanging in there guys, it’s been a bit of an epic dry spell, but your Tiger pal’s back – bruised, battered but fighting on.
I’m writing this in PE, staring out the window of the B&B that’s been my home for the last week at a cotton-white sky as rain falls imperceptibly on the tiny, manicured garden outside.
If I had to explain how I’m feeling right now, the first words that come to mind are “wrung dryâ€.
That feeling when the project you’ve been working on so hard it’s consumed your every waking moment finally ends and the best you can say is, “It went ok.â€
Not horrendously bad, not career-alteringly amazing, just ok. It went ok, people seemed to like it, things happened (mostly) as they were meant to and now all that’s left to do is write the debriefing reports, discuss what worked and what didn’t and pack up shop for the December holidays.
Friday is our last official day in the office, then ol’ Slicky-T is on leave until the 7th Jan bitches!
I can’t fucking wait.
I can’t fucking wait to dedicate my waking hours solely to the things I love doing – writing, creating sick content, reading, lying on packed summer beaches and soaking up the sun, swimming, training, eating well, watching movies and series, doing whatever the fuck I want to do.
More than that though, I can’t fucking wait to go back home to J-Rab.
I can’t wait to take her into my arms, breathe her in deep, hold her there and not let go. Her body pressed against mine, her head nestled in the crook of my neck, I swear to God, it’s the closest thing I’ve ever felt to home.
And wow, I can’t wait to eat some home-cooked food, made from scratch. I’ve been smashing so many take-aways that my hands smell like burger and my sweat feels like deep-fryer grease.
There have been good times, slamming tequila shots and dancing until 4am, racing around this two-horse city at ungodly hours, a sea of constantly shifting faces, smiling, laughing, swirling endlessly across dancefloors writhing with life.
And then the next day, waking up in an empty bed, aching all over from the fight you had with numerous bottles the night before. If you get a gigantic, greasy breakfast down quickly enough, you’re ok.
You throw some vodka in that orange juice. It goes down like knives, but without it you don’t stand a snowball’s chance of keeping that brekky down.
You shower and suit up, Bioplus sachets and McNab’s Energy Tabs and you’re all set.
You step out into the big bad world and you get ready to do it all again.
A week of this and you can only imagine what my liver thinks of me.
But now it’s all over and all there is left to do is jump on that big steel bird and fly back to my lady.
There are good times ahead Party People.
Sunshine and good times 
-ST
