Last night I dreamed I went to Manchester again...

I walked from Manchester-Piccadilly station (24 hour Burger King...ohhh, yeah), to Piccadilly gardens and onto Portland Street. I walked past the hotels, the Fab Cafe, the numerous buffets...

I turned on to Oxford Road, past Cornerhouse, Revolution, and the park. I turned to Cambridge Hall, but no one was there.

I don't know what it is, but even though I've spent slightly less than four months in Manchester and the better (?) part of 28 years, but I find myself homesick for the place. Whenever it rains I miss walking along Oxford Rd and having my umbrella pulled inside out by the wind as I made my way to Sainsburys for copious frozen meals and Warburtons crumpets.

I had to get up really early for work yesterday and it was still dark and it made me think of the first time I got up at 6:30am to pick up my friend from the train station and it was pitch black.

Whenever I go out and pay $15 for a cocktail I think of Sailor Jerrys mojitos for 3 pounds at Font, or amaretto sours and Grace declaring them to be 'Dr Pepper through a red straw - bad Motherfucker!'

I miss the TARDIS and the Dalek from Fab Cafe, Wasabi, and the Printworks. I miss Afflecks Palace and the Northern Quarter in general.

I miss the friends I made most of all. And I will see them again. FACT.

I wonder why I feel so homesick for this city and I think it's the place where I got to be me without everything else. I had to be my own person, and even though I could've been crazier and I could have been more adventurous, I think I realised that being on the other side of the world - this is who I am. Slightly depressing, but also comforting.

I've been thinking a lot about England in general and how it really did feel like my second home and I wonder if I really want to do the move to Sydney or if I should just save up and go to London?

Who knows? Changing my mind a million fucking times is also quintessentially me, alone overseas or surrounded by family and friends in Newcastle.