the curse of el horno

Of course, being at home isn't all bad. I remember several people saying that the culture shock on returning home would be worse, and they were right (as "they" invariably are). Retrospectively, this is probably what put me in a bad mood before, but now I'm feeling rather more chirpy about having moved on from Korea - due in no small part to the fact that I am leaving in less than twelve hours for Venice. And that I returned less than 24 hours ago from a week in Spain.

Purchena, Andalucia, in fact, in my parents' house which goes by the comical name of El Horno. Now, I was led to expect a week of shovelling rubble out of a bombed-out ruin while gnarled Hispanic crones peer over the windows over their knotted knuckles, but I was quite wrong. Apart from the crones, anyway. One such thorny hag, the house's previous occupant, in fact, had thoughtfully left us a welcome note in the form of a scrap of soggy card in a tin in the pantry. Its message translated as, "a turd upon the head of those who henceforth live in this house." The doubting Thomases among you will doubtless say, "I doubt it," but it is absolutely true - El Horno is cursed.

Though there was very little evidence of head-oriented faecal apparitions, we did experience a plague of ants, the manchego cheese gradually became coated in a sort of creepy green ectoplasm, and I swear a poltergeist threw a chunk of plaster at my head one night while I was sleeping.

Beyond the blighted walls of El Horno, we distributed our time in healthy portions between lying on sandy beaches, munching on tapas, drinking San Miguel and wandering around the Alcazaba and Alhambra - two fairytale Moorish palaces of which I have beautiful photos but no means to post them at the moment.

Home - which is to say, Aslockton, a tiny village just far enough from Nottingham to qualify for Backwardness Class C - has been much better, too. There have been a few nights out, and I have been in employment, of sorts, as a kind of bumbling amateur IT person ("OK, here's a job for you. Can you please make Outlook go 'PING!' whenever I get a new email?").

Nevertheless, being, as I am, quite keen on the Rolling Stones, and no great fan of moss, it's time to embark upon another adventure, hooray! Who really knows what's in store, but if everything goes right, by this time tomorrow I'll be slurping on an espresso somewhere in the vicinity of Venice. More will be revealed in due course, but in the mean time, here's where you can join in the fun (in addition, of course, to all your fantastic comments, every one of which is read and appreciated)! What the funk should I call this thing? Clearly "Eastern Seoul" will no longer do, and I am at a loss. So, answers on a postcard, please - the lucky winner gets to have his or her entry printed in large letters across cyberspace forever. And ever. Until I move again.

By the way, more astute readers may remember that I was having some difficulty claiming my "no sick days" bonus from my hagwon bosses in Korea. Well, it would be unfair of me not to point out that, minutes before I left for the airport, at a time when they could very easily have fobbed me off, they decided I should have it after all. Sue saves the day yet again!