Arrival

So, I'm here at last in Kebabistan.

That might have been the longest goodbye I've endured. With my birthday on Thursday, the farewell gig on Saturday, the barby on Sunday, and the last pint in the Heart on Tuesday, I was harder to get rid of than syphilis. But thanks to all of you who made it to one or all of those evenings. I regret not giving everyone as much attention as I hoped, so if you were neglected I'm sorry. You'll just have to come and visit, and bring some pork products.

The trip back to Istanbul was pretty sweet: we got free upgrades to business class, stiffed The Man for an unprecedented extra 25kg of baggage for free (Ayla played the wedding card with the dope behind the counter), and smuggled my guitar amp into the country without paying duty.

We stepped out of the plane and into the heat of a Nike shoe factory in August. And then, of course, we had to endure the blazing row over a few pence with the ignorant, smelly cabby straight from ignorant, smelly cabby Central Casting.

Tomorrow Ayla and I are off to the Kurdish part of Turkey so she can cover the run-up to the elections. In a town called Batman (in the same region) the temperature is already 47C. Holy armpits! Not the weather for capes and tights, Robin. Let me get the Bat-roll-on deodorant from my utility belt.

Spent today unpacking an array of crap that I simply can't live without, including a broken Stereolab mug, a squash racket needing new strings, lots of wires, and dirty laundry. My most essential items are languishing in the loft at my old place.

The Union flag I bought at the Sunday boot after a night out has been hung in the hallway so we can stand to attention in front of it every morning and sing my national anthem. I couldn't bring any Crown soil through customs because of regulations but I'm in conversation with the Consul General to see whether I can acquire some Crown soil from the Istanbul Consulate on a lend-lease basis.

My anarcho-dandyist principles are already out the window, sat here as I am in shorts, my mosquito-bite-ridden soft white underbelly exposed. In a while, I'll put on some flip-flops and a George cross T-shirt and go to a restaurant, where I will be encouraged to smoke. In your face.