West Midlands Safari Park

You may have heard about my train journey to Birmingham. It was a great start to the weekend but the fun didn’t end there. The next day my brother took me to the West Midlands Safari Park so I’m going act upon our reserved rights to blog about camels. (No mascarpone though I’m afraid.)

Our trip got off to a rather stationary start when the car broke down just inside the gates of the Safari Park. I tried to magic it back to life but all that did was confirm that my Hogwarts acceptance letter didn’t get lost in the post. We did, eventually, get the car up and running and we set off through the Safari Park.

There were plenty of deer…I’m pretty sure that’s a deer… yep definitely a deer…maybe…IMG_0171 2

Then some goats… I’m calling this one Billy (original I know)


A Rhino and it’s baby…


We saw one of these little guys jumping across the road, like actually bounding kangaroo-style.


We made it all the way to the Elephant enclosure when the car spluttered to a stop. Our three trunked friends didn’t stay long which was probably for the best as two of the Safari’s keepers and my brother had to jump start the car. We then revved through the rest of the park and shot straight out onto the road home as we’d established that if my brother took his foot off the accelerator the car would die.


So we left the Safari Park, but not before we spent some time with this guy…


Have you ever seen a camel before? Because I hadn’t and oh my God they are fricken’ ginormous! Here’s the camel standing next to a car to give you some perspective.


I mean seriously, they’re humps are half my height!


This one stuck it’s head in our car – that was fun.


And look, they’re bums are so fluffy!


I now love camels. I would also recommend West Midlands Safari Park, it was great fun and if your car breaks down half way through then the staff are wonderful!

My Train Journey to Birmingham

Readers brace yourselves because boy do I have a story for you. This post will restore your faith in humanity (for those of you who have lost it), leave you laughing so hard milk spurts out of your nose (even if you’re not drinking milk), possibly unite you with  a new best friend (in cat form), and make you swoon over Italian men.

I had thought that my Friday afternoon train journey from Reading to Birmingham would be quiet and I had hoped uneventful. I can now assure you that my future predicting skills are somewhat dodgy and hopes and wishes are futile – what if the most amazing thing in the world is something you can’t even imagine? How can you wish for that?

There is no way on earth I would ever have been able to imagine the events that occurred on this particular Cross Country train, which is saying something, given that I’m a writer. Right that’s enough preamble, let’s get on with it.

Meet June and Karen, mother and (grown up) daughter respectively. I got on the train at Reading station, platform 12b and June and Karen were sitting across the aisle from me. Our conversation started, as all good conversations do, with cats. I quickly learnt that June, her daughter, and her grand-daughter were big cat lovers and her grand-daughter even runs a rescue cat charity. (This is the part where you might find a new best friend by visiting Bay Cat Rescue) From what June told me on our train journey Bay Cat Rescue sounds like a wonderful charity that takes in strays and looks after them until they are ready to be re-homed.

It was around about now that my faith in humanity was restored a little bit more. We were deep in discussions about our cats when I felt a firm tap on my shoulder. I braced myself for the scolding I was sure to be coming my way for talking too loudly or some such matter and turned to face the lady sitting next to me. Instead, our little train party grew in size as my neighbour stated, somehow both timid and assured that  “My cat was like that” and joined our conversation. As if that wasn’t enough when we arrived at Oxford and my neighbour got up to leave, June and Karen invited me to sit at their table where I would have more room. June, the dear that she is, insisted that we wouldn’t have to talk, I could put in my headphones and ignore her if I so pleased. I am very glad I didn’t because my train journey only got better.

I continued to chat with June and told her that I was a writer. (I must remember to tell people this more often as it seems to lead to some fabulous stories.) June’s story was like none other…

“Oh you’re a writer are you? You know what I think they should write about: Viagra.”

I swallowed the water I had just sipped before I could decorate her shirt with it. June continued…

“You know how men, when they get to seventy, go to the doctors because they can’t get an erection.”

My eyebrows shot up. Even if I had wanted to say something at this point I wouldn’t have had a chance. June was on a mission.

“Well the doctors go and give them Viagra. And then you have all these men who are hard twenty four hours a day and all they want to do is go at it.”

I should mention that Karen had nipped to the toilet so was not there to witness her mother’s initial Viagra Awareness Campaign.

“All these men want to do is have sex all day long and Charlie, I think it’s dreadful because their poor wives don’t want to be romping around. Their vagina’s are all dry and shrivelled -”

I cough to cover my laugh,

“And the men are just ramming in there and I tell you Charlie, none of my friends like it. I’ve thought about writing to the papers you know because it’s just awful… What do you think Charlie?”

Well reader, I was thinking so many things at this point. I tilted my head, gave a measured nod and said,

“To be quite honest with you June, I can’t say I’m very experienced in the matter.”

June cracked up, patted my knee and said “No, of course not!”

If I did not already think that June was the greatest person I’ve ever met then I certainly did now. And she only got better.

We had a brief stint of musical chairs when some other women boarded the train, they were on their way to Manchester for a Hen Do. They departed to join the rest of their group once they found some empty seats and I was back with June and Karen.

Enter smoking hot Italian guy.

“Are you going to sit here?” asks June.

“If you don’t mind” (Oh he has an accent too!) replies the rather suave Italian.

“Ooo we get a man joining us!” June gushed. It would seem she only frowned upon men once they hit their seventies and Viagra came into play. Italian guy took the seat.

“Well you should be all right, we might talk about things you don’t want to hear but if that’s the case you can pop your headphones in. We’ve covered men so you should be safe”

This, I very much doubted.

“Where are you from?” asked Karen.


And it began…

“What’s your name?”


Honest to God, June gasped. I grinned. The next five minutes consisted of June pronouncing Giovanni’s name.

“Giovaaaani” “GiOvanni”

“It’s quite nice if you say it seductively, isn’t it? – Oh honey, Giovaaani. Karen, you try, say Giovanni.”

Karen shook her head, “No Mum.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to and I don’t have to.”

Giovanni and I tried not to laugh. But wait for it, here it comes,

“Giovanni, you know Viagra?”

Karen’s eyes go wide. I double over in silent hysterics. And yes, poor, beautiful Giovanni received the whole Viagra Awareness Campaign speech. To his credit he listened with utmost interest and a straight face. Karen and I, on the other hand could not stop laughing.

“Well now you know,” June rounded up her story, “So when you’re seventy you can remember this conversation.”

I wiped away my tears and looked up at Giovanni.

“I don’t think I will ever forget.” he said. Nor will I Giovanni, nor will I.

We then went on to discuss the usual things: menopause, oversized breasts and PMS.

“Would you like some fresh orange juice Charlie?” June asked me out of the blue as we pulled out of Leamington Spa. Unsure where this orange juice was going to come from I declined.

Giovanni was put on the spot:

“So Giovanni, I’ve talked enough, what would you like to know? You can ask us anything, what do you want to know about life?”

What do you mean you didn’t prepare a list of questions about life that you want to ask three generations of women on your train journey to the airport? Who doesn’t carry that list around?

And I fell a little bit in love with all three of my companions.

We arrived at Giovanni’s station and said farewell to our Italian friend. I turned to Karen, we gushed over sexy Italian men and I confided that I had spent the latter part of the journey debating whether or not I could give Giovanni my number.

“I think he liked you” piped up June, “you had all his attention, he was much more interested in you than me.”


To my utter disappointment we arrived at my station and parted ways. I’d been fully informed about June’s Viagra Awareness Campaign, two strangers (though I would no longer call them that) offered to buy me a coffee, twice no less. Part of my heart fell for an Italian student. And towards the end of my journey I discovered that June’s granddaughter (Karen’s daughter) is the famous Youtuber Emma Crompton. It’s not hard to see where her charisma comes from. Needless to say, my book sat untouched in my bag.

I went to Madrid and long story short I’m now banned from hide and seek

Hello there!

You haven’t heard from me yet, but I’m the other side of this blog.  I would love to say my irregularities are chiefly due to a busy lifestyle, but there’s also inherent laziness, poor time management and an obsession with lemons to account for.  

Anyway, I just decided to check in now that I’ve returned to the country.  My friends from uni decided to step into the new territory of taking holidays together and the result was quite a bit of fun, but also the helping of drama and events that are increasingly inexplicable.  To round things up, I’ve decided to make a handy list of what to look out for in Madrid:

1. Visit the crystal palace in the park!  Even better if you end up there during a poorly thought out game of hide and seek with your friends, and decide to stay, listen to music and get ice creams before finally being found.

2. Take a tour of the Prado!  Go with at least two art history students who can supply you with memes.  Enjoy the nicknames they have for each painting.  “Sexy Jesus” sticks out.  Stop at the gift shop on your way out, because you can purchase a playmobil Sexy Jesus there if you are so inclined.
3. Go to the Real Madrid stadium.  Go with your friends who also know nothing about football.  Have one football fanatic in the group who desperately tries to explain whilst the rest of you point out the shiniest trophies and play with the gadgets in the display rooms.

4.  Drink sangria after dinner.  Look after your drunk friends whilst they make friends with a waiter called Javier.  Never walk down that street sober again.

5.  Take a day trip to Toledo.  Wander around the many shops selling swords.  Ponder as to why there are so many swords.  Buy a sword, slay your enemies.  Stop to enjoy the cathedral.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency

So Sasha is going to be very proud of me when she discovers that I am reading Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. She’s a big fan of Douglas Adams. This is a new genre for me, I don’t tend to read much fantasy and when I do it’s YA. So I wasn’t sure how far I’d get with Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency but I guess there is a reason for Adams’ success. The jury was still out on the book until I read one of those wonderful lines that made me laugh out loud. For those of you that know the book, it was the quirky professor Reg who stated, whilst at a candle lit collegiate dinner,

“It seems odd, don’t you think, that the quality of the food should vary inversely with the brightness of the lighting. Makes you wonder what culinary heights the kitchen staff could rise to if you confined them to perpetual darkness. Could be worth a try, I think.”

I have to admit that despite the fact he is two hundred years old I am falling a little bit in love with Reg. His absurdity reminds me somewhat of Sasha, a comparison I am sure she will be thrilled by. So it was Adams’ delicious combination of observant humour and exaggeration that drew me into the book. I am now about half way through and it’s really quite satisfying watching the different threads, that seemed utterly disconnected to begin with, weave together. When you’re a writer there’s a fine line between leaving your reader confused but intrigued and leaving them like a bamboozled baboon who doesn’t have the patience to read on. I’m glad to report that as of yet I am still very much a literate human and not a frustrated ape. Congratulations Mr Adams.

How to Dress Evil

For those of you who don’t know I’m currently attending art school. For the next two months I am going to be working on my final project; a satirical cartoon book entitled ‘Everything you Need to Know about Being Evil’. The book is going to tell you, yep you guessed it, everything you need to know about being evil. You lucky devils (or poor souls depending on which way you look at it) get a sneak preview of the chapter ‘How to Dress Evil’

Villains are notorious for being foul, horrific and evil but one cannot deny that they have style. I feel this is understandable; if you are going to destroy the world you’re bound to draw the attention of the infamous paparazzi.

When choosing your evil outfit don’t be afraid to enter into the territory of the madman. No one will fear a ballerina’s tutu but if you cover said tutu in sharp spikes and jagged tears then your victims will sense danger. If you want to go really crazy you can add blood smears to the spikes.

Recommend ways to create blood smears include mixing cornflour with red food colouring and water or, alternatively, killing someone and using their fresh blood.

Below I have outlined four different styles to help you choose your outfit.

The Corset Killer




The Corset Killer is lethal. She murders with a smirk and a wink. She’s brandished with jewels like a queen. Poison is her weapon of choice but she wields the knife with a passion. She plays with your mind and aims for your heart. Her cuts and deep and her thoughts are dark.





The Business Man





Think Stephan Moffat’s Moriarty. Refined on the outside, bat-shit crazy on the inside. If you go for The Business Man look then don’t be cheap. I’m talking designer suits here. You could even add your own style with personalised cufflinks. Ideas include: beheaded head, pistols, daggers…





The Badass Look



Warning: Only choose this outfit if you are able to tie laces. 




The badass is stealthy. She’s the spy turned assassin, an expert in martial arts. She’s got a smile that makes you grin but a death stare that quite literally kills.







The Suave Look



Do you think you are the greatest person on earth? Do girls and guys fall at your feet? Were you the ‘popular’ kid in school? Are you full of shit? If yes then The Suave Look is for you.





Once you’ve chosen your style feel free to embellish. Suggested adornments include polished blades, cats, guns and pocket watches (world domination requires strict time keeping).

P.S apologies for the poor quality photos, Sasha’s living it up in Madrid so you’ll have to put up with my lesser photography skills.


Violet Flames, a short story

Dear Readers,

Last month I entered a short story competition but, alas, my story was not shortlisted. This is often the way it goes for writers and you learn not to become too disheartened by it. Writing is subjective, think about all the books there are, some of them you like, some you’ll hate and it will be the complete opposite for the person sitting next to you. You will never get a room full of people to all agree on loving one book (unless said room is holding a gathering for fans of a particular book and that’s just cheating). Don’t ignore the fact that you didn’t win, take it on board, revisit the story, by all means hear any advice you are given but don’t take it to mean your writing isn’t good. And look on the bright side, for me, not getting shortlisted means I can share my story will all of you. I hope you enjoy it 🙂



Violet Flames

The mirror was two-way. I was sure of it, because I could see through it. I stood in the centre of the box room, mimicking the stance of the woman on the other side of the glass. Caramel coloured hair fell down to her shoulders. Black suit trousers clung to her legs whilst a loose polka dot blouse flowed over her torso. Official but sexy. I doubted she knew I could see her yet she was determined not to break the stare. Her eyes were nothing special, a common grey-blue, but the intensity of her gaze scared me more than I cared to admit. I cursed. Her eyebrows shot up. I broke eye contact and let the mirror come back into view. And there I was, staring back at myself with the same intensity the woman had. She was older than me by about ten years. My hair was darker, more like burnt caramel, and I was shorter. But if it wasn’t for the scar we could have been mistaken for each other. My hand fluttered to my chest. Not now Violet. Keep it together.

I flinched as a key rattled in the lock of the door. The sound of scraping metal pierced through my ears. I grimaced and drew into myself. I focused on my breathing, letting the sound of my breath run through my head, muting the scream of metal on metal.

“Miss Sprite.” The words were dull, as if caught in a thick fog.

“Miss Sprite.” The voice was too deep to be the woman’s.

“Violet!” The shout shattered my protections.

“What!” I spun around, angry that my control had been broken.

The man was dressed in a black suit, only he’d left his jacket behind and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. I smelled washing power, it mixed with the smoke that lingered on my clothes. He held a dark green paper folder in one hand, with the other he pointed at a collapsable plastic chair that now sat in the centre of the room. Huh, when did that get there?

“Take a seat.”

I walked around from behind the chair and sat down. The man towered above me but right then I didn’t care. I’d been on my feet for ten hours and I had to hold back a groan as the tension ran out of my legs. I shoved my fingers in the pockets of my jeans and stretched out my legs, I was still wearing my work shirt over the top of a black tank top. It was short sleeved, designed to keep you cool in the climbing centre. It turned summer three weeks ago and the temperature skyrocketed. Except in here, with the air conditioning on full blast, my skin was chilled and my hairs stood on end. I resisted the urge to hug myself.

The man leant against the mirror. He opened the file in his hand then spoke.

“My name is Agent Scarborough, are you ready to talk yet?”

“I was ready to talk four hours ago. Now I just want to sleep.”

Agent Scarborough raised an eyebrow, “Your entire family just died and you want to sleep?”

I ground my teeth together, “Gee, thanks for reminding me.”

Agent Scarborough turned back to his file, “What were you doing this morning?”


He didn’t ask if anyone could verify that. He knew I was telling the truth, they’d had four hours to check my whereabouts.

“Where did you go after that?”

“I walked home.” My voice cracked on the word home. Agent Scarborough lowered the file.

“What time did you get home?”

“One thirty”

“Why did it take you ten minutes longer than usual to walk home?”

I sighed, I’d known they would ask this. “I stopped to feed the ducks, I gave them the leftovers from my sandwich.”

“Why? Why only today, why not every day?”

I couldn’t help myself – I snorted. So much for my plan to tell the truth. I’d stopped to feed the ducks because I wanted a few more minutes of peace before my entire family died. I felt the tears gather in my eyes. I stared up at Scarborough.

“They looked hungry.” I stated.

Agent Scarborough sighed. “What did you do when you got home?”

I swallowed, “I called 999.”

“Why?” Agent Scarborough’s voice was cold and I hated him for it. I felt my palms heating up.

“Because my house was on fire.” I squirmed as the images flooded my mind. The fire climbing the walls of the brick house. Everything I had, everyone I loved, engulfed in flames. The amber light burned my eyes. I forced them open and stared at Agent Scarborough. Something flickered in his eye. There was a knock on the door.

“Come on in.” Scarborough’s voice was loud. The words slammed against my head. The door opened and the woman from behind the glass walked in. She had gathered her hair up in a clip at the back of her head.

“Violet,” Scarborough addressed me, “This is Agent Venetti.”

Venetti didn’t bother with niceties. She strode over to me and rested her hands on the arms of the chair. She leaned forward till her face was inches from mine. I felt her breath, thick against my skin. I flexed my hands trying to disperse the heat.

“How did you start the fire Violet?” She asked, her eyes boring into me.

“I didn’t.” I glared back.

Venetti pushed against the chair, the plastic creaked under her weight.

“We know you did it Violet, the fire was started in the basement, you were the only one who had access.”

My breath caught in my chest. The basement. My heart beat faster. The basement had been turned into a play room for me and my sisters years ago. The only one who used it anymore was Sophie. She was six. She loved the den we had built under the stairs. She never left. I tried to focus on my breathing again but I felt my body heating up. Whoever had done this had started the fire in the same room as a six-year-old child. A scream boiled at the base of my throat. I breathed in through my nose. Not now Violet, you can’t lose control, not here.

“I couldn’t have caused the fire,” I stated, “I was walking home from work when it started.” Venetti let go of the chair and straightened up. She walked across the room.

“See, now that’s what I don’t understand. You should have been home. We have witnesses that swear you arrive home at twenty past one every day. So why not today?”

I stayed silent. Venetti continued.

“How did you know Violet? If you didn’t start the fire then how did you know to stay away?”

I sighed. I was tired, every bone in my body ached and the angrier I got the harder it was getting to control myself. I felt my skin tingling. I closed my eyes and instantly regretted it. I watched them scream. My mother’s body racked with coughs as she stumbled through the smoke, trying to reach my sisters. My dad was passed out on the floor, an empty bottle next to him. My mother tripped over his body as she staggered for the door. She fell hard then reached up to grab the door handle. Her skin sizzled as it touched the metal. She screamed. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nostrils. I remembered my eyes snapping open. I remembered running to the bathroom. I remembered throwing up over and over again until there was nothing left to get rid of and still that smell lingered in the back of my throat. Even here. Even now.

I gazed into my lap. “I didn’t know. If I had I would have gone back sooner. I would have called for help sooner.”

Agent Scarborough pushed himself away from the wall.

“Violet,” his voice was gentle, “we have enough evidence to charge you. Talking to us will only make things better.” He stepped towards me. “How did you start the fire Violet?”

I shook my head and blew my fringe out of my face, “Don’t you have people who can figure that out?”

I looked up in time to catch the look Scarborough and Venetti shared. Neither of them said a word.

“Look this isn’t going to end well for you,” Venetti turned on me, “you have no alibi, easy access and” – she pointed at my chest – “a pretty damning motive.”

I felt the scar that ran from the top left of my neck down to my right collar bone and under my shirt. I scowled at her, feeling the cool of the glass mix with the burning heat of pain as it slashed my skin all over again. I gritted my teeth as my whole body burned from anger. The metal joints in the chair started to heat up in my hands. I yanked my arms away, pressing my hands under my armpits.

“Why can’t they find what started the fire?” I asked.

Venetti looked back at Scarborough. Scarborough looked at me. “They can’t find the cause of the fire because there is nothing to find. There was no accelerant, no spark, nothing.”

Venetti butted in, “So how the hell did you do it?”

I didn’t look at her. I was stuck in my own head. I knew then how the fire was started but it wasn’t possible. I wasn’t there.

“What were you arguing about before the fire?”

I don’t know who asked the question, my mind was too busy to register the voice, only the words.

“What?” I asked.

“Neighbours heard shouting from the basement.”

The basement, there it was again. I never went in the basement. It was Sophie’s space. It was hers… No. It wasn’t possible. I would have known.

“You would have know what?” Scarborough’s voice was curious. Shit, did I say that out loud? I looked Scarborough in the eyes, hoping I was wrong. “How many bodies did they find?”

He hesitated. It sent shivers through my body. No, no, no, no, no.

“It’s not important” Scarborough muttered, “what’s important is that there were bodies. Bodies Violet! Whether you meant to or not you killed four people.”

My heart picked up. My blood pumped faster. My skin got hotter. No, no, no.

“Four, are you sure? They found four bodies?”

“Maybe not yet but they will, there’s no way she could have survived that.”

Except there was. Maybe. I would have known. But maybe…

“Who’s body haven’t they found Agent?”

Nobody spoke. I stood up, pushing the chair away behind me. It slammed against the wall.

“Who’s body?” I shouted.

It was Venetti who answered. She looked right at me, “Sophie’s”

“Shit.” I started pacing, trying to cool my body. “I need to go, I need to go now.”

“You’re not going anywhere. Now sit back down.” Scarborough’s voice was hard. It hurt my head and I couldn’t stop it right now. I couldn’t block the pain. So I used it.

“I did it okay,” I turned on Scarborough, “I started the fire.”

Venetti stepped towards me, “how?” she asked.

I took a step back. “Like this,” I said. Then I let go. I dropped all of my protections, every single one of them and I was on fire. Flames licked my skin. I felt the heat but more than that I felt relief. All of my pain, all of my anger fuelled the flames. Oh Sophie. She was hurting, she was mad and I wasn’t there. How did I not know? I kicked back my head and screamed. The flames roared. The window shattered. I heard curses and forced myself to pull the flames back. No one else was going to get hurt. I climbed onto the window frame, extinguished the flames and jumped.

I’m coming Sophie. I’m coming.


Ecuador Is Calling To Me

It’s official, this weekend I paid the deposit and in six months time I am heading off to Ecuador – for ten weeks! Last month my therapist and I decided that I needed to take a gap year, so come May (the month my course ends) I’m going to have as much FUN as possible. The first adventure to enter my diary is a ten week trip to Ecuador with a company called The Leap. Here’s a brief outline of what I’ll get up to whilst I’m half way across the world:

Week One – Quito, Ecuador’s Capital City 

Quito is 2,850 metres above sea level which makes it the highest capital city in the world. Most of us on the trip will be coming from England, a country where in some places you can step out your front door and have your feet in the sea (alas I do not reside in one of these places). This means, however, that our bodies will need some time to adjust. So our first few days will be spent getting over our jet lag and trying not to get dehydrated. We also start our Spanish lessons.

Weeks One – Four – Agato

For three weeks we will live with the rural Agato community. The families there are kind enough to take us in, look after us and introduce us to their way of life (I have an inkling Guinea Pig will be on the menu). Whilst we are there we will help to improve the village infrastructure by doing a range of things from building and harvesting to helping in the day care centre and teaching. The Spanish lessons continue…

Weeks Four – Five – Lowland Jungle

This is the part of the trip I am most excited for. We spend two weeks living with the Tsachila Tribe, yes you guys, an actual tribe! Sleeping in huts, bathing in the river and lots of rice (eating of rice, not bathing in it). Here, we will be helping on the Tsachila’s cacao plantation, preserving buildings, cultivating their botanical garden and learning about their culture. It says a lot about me, and about the number of books I read, that I am most excited about bathing in the river… Before we go we are advised to find out as much about the tribe as we can so you’re bound to be hearing a lot about the Tsachila people.

Week Six – Adventure Week

White water rafting, kayaking, mountain biking – every thing Sasha hates and everything I love.

Weeks Seven – Nine – The Galapagos, San Cristobal

After a brief pitstop in Quito we are up in the air and on our way to the Galapagos Islands where we will live and work at the conservation project Hacienda Tranquila. We will help to repair environmental damage, provide clean water to the locals and take special needs children horse riding. By the year 2020 Hacienda Tranquila plan to bring the Giant Tortoise to live in the indigenous forest, so whilst we are there we will help prepare the land to provide a home for these amazing creatures.

Week Ten – Amazon Rainforest

I am terrified of spiders! But hey ho, I have a feeling our stay at the Gaia Amazon Centre will be worth a few mini heart attacks, especially as we get to go on a canoe river tour. (I’m a bit in love with rivers)

If I survive the spiders and other creepy crawlies I will be flying back home at the end of week ten. After I’ve slept for a month I will catch you guys up on everything that happened out in Ecuador. So stick around, I have a feeling things are about to get interesting.