I am jet lagged. Oh so jet lagged. Jet lagged in a jet laggy way that I didn't know even jet laggingly existed. My thoughts are in such a mess that sophisticated prose is frankly beyond me. I mean, I keep running (walking) upstairs to retrieve something, forgetting entirely what it was, and retreating back to where I started. Today is basically going backwards. So this week's column will be in diary form. Please bear with me.
Thursday (I think??) 11.30am - landed. Initial thought: Emirates don't make you walk through Business to leave the plane. Thanks, fam.
12.15pm - Aqua-planned my way into the arrivals hall and finally admitted defeat. The Slydes are off, New Balance sneaks on. Hello again, winter.
1.30pm - Made it to my parents' house bedraggled and brandishing two weeks' worth of washing. Quite how I negotiated two massive suitcases on an overcrowded Piccadilly line train, I will never know.
2.45pm - it's concerning me how non-hungry I am. A most unusual state of affairs - presumably because my body clock informs me I should heading off to sleep. Force down a myProtein shake blended with frozen berries and peanut butter. It's good to be home.
3pm - Quick diary check reveals that I have muddled my dates and tonight am due at the BAFTA screening of my dad's latest film, To Walk Invisible. Put in grovelling phone call to my trainer at Duo Chelsea cancelling today's session - we agree that it's probably for the best. My ability to make any dramatic movements has been all but eroded by 20 hours on-board.
4.45pm - Mum has cajoled me into sorting through the Samsonites to create a washing pile. It's surprisingly satisfying, not least because of the proffered Cheers ice cream and Mojo juice bribes - clever lady. She knows me well.
6.30pm - Arrive at BAFTA with dad, and immediately have to strip off the fifteen or so layers I'd donned for the journey. England is not as chilly as I'd expected. I am armed with water and snacks incase I start to feel sleepy. Horrified to discover that this is not 'done' at BAFTA. The KIND bars stay firmly in my bag. Yikes.
9.15pm - Credits role (I give a little whoop at dad's name) and am amazed to report I have had no desire whatsoever to sleep. I gleefully report this to Sally (director & writer) as though it is some form of praise. Perhaps I should have explained my prior sleep-deprivation.
11.20pm - Arrive home and topple into bed. Take the decision to test Oxygenetix foundation's assertion that it's so packed with skincare stuff that bedtime wearing is ok. The fact that I cannot be bothered to walk five steps to the bathroom is pure coincidence. All in the name of research, of course.
Excuse my brevity - next week will be longer.
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