Home ... how do I know it?

Well, it would be about waking to Little Miss Three singing her happy wake-up songs quietly at 9.30am.

And about rushing to feed 10 year old stepson then cycling like a seriously crazy woman through Antwerpen city with Scout-stepson holding on to my waist for dear life as we raced to the Sunday Scout-meeting-place.

Home, via the Belgian bakery with 12 year old step-daughter who did the Nederlands thing and ordered 12 pistolets (crispy white bread buns), twee grote witte broden, hmmm 5 chocolade koffie koeken met pudding.

Breakfast done, I began work on the German gig, they want images by Tuesday but there was unpacking and washing to be done in-between.

And Gert?
He's so sick with a horrible flu that arrived as we flew home ... coughing up indescribable muck whenever he dares cough. He's been taking fever and pain medication.

So, photographs for Germany and photographs for the last pieces of travel-type website still under construction but almost done.

Then, the 5pm bicycle dash back across the city to pick up the Scout, remembering only when faced with many Scout parents in the car park that I hadn't dressed so well and I'd missed out on the shower.

Home ... dishes to wash, Persian chicken cooking as I write this, Little Miss Three wandering around in a fur hat Mary Lou bought as a gift for me back in our Istanbul days, me listening to Paul Kelly singing Midnight Rain through my earphones.

Madness ... pure madness, and that's how I know that I'm home.