I'm back, sitting here in front of the computer, waiting for phone calls that, possibly, may never come.

It's alright, as I reflect upon my two weeks in Australia with reverence and reminescence. Definitely good fun, and times that I'll definitely never forget.

I'm just wondering, five years down the line, which of those memories I would keep most strongly. Really, in terms of my selective memory, I usually remember the oddest things about my trips abroad which I considered to be better than just 'good'.

For example, the last time I was in Tokyo, I remembered how the vending machine dispensed a can of coffee so hot, that it left a burn mark on one of my fingers for two weeks. Or the last time I was in New Zealand, I drank out of the stream by the mountainside, thinking that the water tasted exactly like Perrier.

If I had to pick this time, it would probably be the tea I spilled on my lap, as I was looking at the scenery across the Barossa valley. Or maybe it was the way how one of my mates fell onto the tarmac as he tried to climb into the cockpit of his plane.

Oh who knows. It's all a bit strange now, really. There's a bit of anxiousness hanging about in my chest that I can't get rid of. Maybe it's the bloody air that I'm breathing into my lungs.

The air, it's thick with anticipation...