The time spent in England is nearly at the half, and I have about a year and half in front of me still - of course, if everything goes well.

Yet I start to freak out already.

England is not so different from Czech Republic, is it? Almost same weather, fauna, flora, mentality and country management (yet in Britain better when it comes to politics and state running in common). Mixture of people with a lot of opinions, fashions, languages and beliefs.

Good country to live in, without any doubts.

So I have this year and half to enjoy this all rainy and wet weather as much as I can, and possibly put it in my head to remember it forever, because after that time a plane heading to south will end this up and change all my life - again. Everything will be again upside down for me and although I’m looking forward to it, I have to admit, it is scary, no matter how much I try to calm myself down.

So many things will change. Language for the second time, laws, people’s minds and mentality, weather (ehm hmmm, I have to mention this, although it is kinda clear that Northumberland has a bit more green stuff than … desert), eeeeeverything.

And me in the middle of that, trying to understand what the hell is going on - again.

Who wouldn’t freak out, huh? I certainly would - and I am!

So where’s the tragedy? Well, I always supposed 24 as the ‘adult‘ border, the age, where you become all serious, responsible and boring. I truly have no idea why did I think that and where did I come to it - maybe because in most of Harlequin books are ladies 24 years old and hence supposed as ‘adult and grown up enough to have a romance and get married‘.

(Yes, I’ve been reading Harlequins. Besides many other genres.)

Well, I don’t know why the 24 looks so … awfully old. I’m married already, I have a daughter, yet now it seems like I should be doing that stuff. Like I should be responsible, parent and if not, I should go commit a suicide because the society expects me to behave in certain way and not the other.

Not that anything will change on Friday. Nothing will. I will be one year older by calendar, but totally same silly and odd person like I’ve been till today.

I still will be married and I still will have beautiful daughter (inshallah), I will cook same dinners and put onions in all meals, I will be probably still playing 9Dragons and getting upset above stupidity of people.

But… I will be 24!

And there aren’t any days without me going shopping and comming with a lot of stuff I forgot to put on the shopping list, but also without a lot of things I did put on the shopping list but didn’t double check in the shop and came without them.

Sometimes I can mask it - not enough oil? Let’s smack some butter in it, the water will go away and the fat will stay. No Domestos to clean the toilet? Hell with it, the children’s shampoo is strong enough for the moment. No diapers for the baby for today? … Ok, that’s an un-maskable problem. I can’t let Dori run all over the place just butt-naked, who would clean the carpets. Certainly not me!

Today I forgot to buy rice and vegetables for the dinner which was supposed to be chicken with rice and vegetables.

Oh well, let’s make chicken with French fries with some cucumber around to simulate the vegetables part.

Who will know what was planned, huh? I never write down menus - because it will be just a constant lie.

Yeah, well, I don’t know how you, but I certainly have this feeling uncomfortably often.

So now I can tell a story of a really nifty idea I had two days ago while cooking bolognese sauce for our spaghetti, and how did I forget it within twenty minutes since it came to my mind. And since that moment I just live with the feeling I had a really good entry to write, but I never will because I have a big hole in my head through which all my good ideas drop out and only the bad ones stay.

Pfffft.