So I've seriously neglected my urge to regail anyone who's listening. But honestly, it's been mental.
I'm sat in a boozer inAngel, London, fondly remembering the last time I was here just after the bolts had been removed from my jaw injury. I'm freeezing and missing our Copa bolthole, although the beer is bloody wonderful. Here begins a week of music education that will hopefully shape the next couple of years. If you fancy a beer gis a shout!
So, safe in the knowledge that Harry's visit to my new home is right royally flying the flag, I'm off for a curry.
And the question that must be on all ex-pats minds from time to time is well and truly on ours.
Should we stay (in Rio) or should we go?