"How do you turn on the heating?" I asked Kath this morning. She looked up over the top of the reception desk at me standing in the doorway to my office. The forecast was 24 degrees but it hadn't reached that yet.
"I thought you said it was warm?" she replied.
"Well, yes, and this morning it's not, it's cold but don't tell anyone I said that or they'll give me stick for laughing at Jackie's scarf last week"
"The switch is right there" she said, pointing to the wall behind her.
It's not all glamour this jetting about you know. I don't want you thinking it's all larking about and cocktails on the harbour. Some nights we stay home and dry Ella's woolly tights on the only radiator we have. It beats the homesickness, it's like a British summer.
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