On Sunday I was casually asked the most simplest of questions, but one which has for many months has been the cause of a significant amount of problems:

"So what have you been doing since the last time I saw you?".

I met Dave at Nate's Birthday drinks in November of last year. I rather like him, his enthusiasm is quite extraordinary and it was apparent that he didn't know what has transpired, in fact I suspect he only met Tash the once, on that evening. It took a minute or so for me to reply, rolling around the two very distinct directions each answer would take the conversation. The direct and honest approach would unnecessarily complicate and probably end the conversation there and then. The other tack is a bit more subtle, but if you are talking to an idiot it is bound to fail, it requires consideration, a lot of careful wording and a certain mount of restraint of information from me, so the question can be answered but also to allow a gentle tippy toe around the "subject". In the end I told him that I was living on the south coast, taking it easy, preparing to go to the homeland (Australia), there was still some nimble foot work to be done as I elaborated further, because well, once a question is posed, it is very hard to stop and soon Tash and the use of the plurals "we" and "our" become omni present in my vocabulary, but now the phrase "my wife" (words that for me stubbornly continue to linger as well in the present tense I also realise) is followed by the past tenses "did", "would" and "done". Tash the person however, is still discussed in the present, as she bloody well should be.

Having written that I feel the need to point out that I have never constructed a sentence "My Wife done.......", except perhaps in jest when we were discussing our Essex friends and their dislike for using "to the" in their conversations; as in "I go Gym/toilet/Hairdresser/tanning salon/golf club etc..." of which "I done Gym/Jim/toilet/etc..." must be the past tense - At the risk of losing you, this is more of a private joke between Tash and I.

This was the first conversation I have got through without directly mentioning what has happened, so is significant, but doesn't really help explain to people what I have been doing of late, there seems to be no collective word for this that I can find. The act of visiting ones friends whilst still under the umbrella of bereavement to share some time, love and reminiscences. You would think that the bloody French or Italians would have come up with some thing beautiful phrase to help out here, after all the Italian language has a word for the colour change in leaves as the Autumn comes and actually to Tash's continual amusement also for the black plastic end found on shoelaces. But no, the closest I have found are;

Wanderjahr; a German word for a period of travel, especially after finishing schooling, which in one sense this is, but dear old German, hardly the most romantic of languages and does not really take into account the emotional nature for my visits.

In medias res; a latin phrase meaning "in the middle of a sequence of occurrences" - which is certainly how I feel at the moment.

So it was that Vince, Mirelle and Toronto got a visit/In media res on my Wanderjahr. Mirelle is Swiss/Guatemalan Canadian and I have no shame in admitting that I was completely intimidated by her stature when she met me at arrivals. Neither the Swiss, nor Guatemalan's are tall people.

Vince himself, is a curious bunny, he and I used to fill our work days with practical conversations on what situations would require the need for him to activate his England Escape plan, retrieving by night a buried stash containing money, passport(s) and one imagines the necessities one requires for flitting the country at short notice; ipod, pants, toothbrush and a good novel. This was mostly fantasy and largely influenced by film, hence we would often be side tracked by the need to include items required by particular filmic plots in the planning "Well if you are planning to cross Europe, then you need a mini if you are going to drive (Bourne Identity) or a grey Prince of Wales check suit (James bond, From Russia with love), but for god's sake man, just don't order red wine with the fish or you'll give the game away". The problem comes in the real life planning for this kind of escapade, it is hard to dig up a buried mini and not only do suits go in and out of fashion, but men do put on weight, it would only be to your detriment to turn up for the orient express in an ill fitting 1970's flared beige safari suit. Consequently we have a running joke about both him and his father being secret agents, partly this is down to Mr Poil senior's frequent invisibility when Tash and I would go down to see him, "he is on a mission" would be Vince's rebuke. This is made all the more freaky by the fact that they both share the same name.

Consequently Vince "was on a mission" when Mirelle picked me up.

The timing of this visit was to take advantage of the Canadian Thanks giving holiday (Important North American information 101: The Canadian Thanksgiving has more in common with the European Harvest festivals and unlike the American founding fathers, heavily religious, thanks giving in November, it actually takes place in the late Autumn, giving all Canadiarians a nice long weekend vacation). I was also told several times that this was important because most Canadarians only get given ten days holidays a year, so every days counts.

Being in North America it seemed only reasonable that I should be taken on a (admittedly very small) road trip, three hours north to Toronto to the Algonquin National park. This was taken in a valiant steed of a car. I mean, Vince and Mirelle really went all out – they rented the "Rolls Royce", if you will, of the mid-sided affordable family car – the Hyundai Elantra. People stared in awe as we asthmatically pulled alongside them in the overtaking lane before hurriedly tucking back in behind them at first sign of an incline. Considering the country that lives below us ( in the mighty US of A), it was no surprise that all our nutrition for the day was of the highest caliber (or maybe calorie). Both on the way out and back I was treated to a visit to a Canadian institution, the coffee shop, cum diner, cum all round cultural experience called Tim Hutton's. I was warned before entry that the coffee was of the love it or hate it variety, entry however was not with out it's cultural observances. It is, I understand, normal for the Canadian patrons of Mr Hutton's to queue, out the door in this case. The toilets were before the counter, so I watched as one couple queued with us to go to the loo, I did not spot if they were given a new place in the line or were banished to the back again because I was at that point in time standing at the counter open mouthed as Mirelle spoke to the portly middle woman behind the counter in the local dialect of coffee; I am familiar with vocabulary of Starbucks, A grande soya latte, decaff half sniff chocalatini and alike, but this was another language entirely. Interestingly all the serving staff were female and all looked to be related, this was after all a small town we had wondered into. Upon leaving, really crappy coffee in hand and high calorie sugar based products neatly secure in doggy bag, I asked about the other queue, the leading out of the car park into the road, line for the drive-thro, surely it would of been easier to park, get out and go in. Don't be so silly I was told, remember where you are.

After a small tester hike in the park where we tested our wilderness skills."look a bear", "no it is a stag", "it has got a tail, its a dog", the three of us made our way up, what looked on the map anyway, to be a steep climb to the descriptively named Lookout Point. Practically attired as we were for the occasion, we all quickly felt over dressed as our arrival at the car park was timed close to perfection with a bus load of Chinese tourists. The forest walk up to the look out therefore was all comfortable shoes, casual slacks and hand luggage, not the wilderness trek I was expecting. Similarly at the lookout I had the view below, a beautiful and bustling vista of Oriental's being photographed like they were on the bow of the titanic, still at this point they kept the v-signs under control. Always ones to do the opposite, Vince and I found a better vantage point to the left of the amassed thong and started clicking away merrily. Algonquin from here was a huge landscape of mottled autumnal leaves stretching out into the distance like an ill chosen 1970's hallway carpet. The visual brilliance of the place was somewhat ruined by some dufouses next to us who had signed up to the bellowing and banal conversational school of vista appreciation. Two weeks on and all I can remember about that moment was the fact that the female one repeatedly wanted to know if anyone wanted to share an orange with her. Doubtful I suspect.

The three of us then spotted a man amongst men, a true gentleman of this fine wilderness, striding confidently through the largely oriental crowd, dressed as Vince commented, in the sort of tight blue jeans that only a Wild man or cowboy can expect to get away with, matched up with a blue denim shirt (which we later realised was unbuttoned to the navel, revealing his un-taut, hairless and shall we say relaxed chest), blond shaggy hair and beard, leather mountain hat and....... pipe! The perfect accoutrements for living life wilderness. Grizzly Adams, pitched up his tripod, puffed away at his pipe and proceeded to mount up the smallest camera imaginable attached to a mile long lens and click away, we on the other hand kept a discrete distance with our monster SLR's having a contest to see who got the best picture of this dude without him seeing us - The reason for this was to us clear, he had a fucking big knife hanging from his belt and I for one did not want to be leaving the park hogtied ready for dinner over the bonnet of his 4x4.

Thanks giving (a clever dry run for Christmas of which much is talked about in the paragraphs below), was wonderful and welcoming, Mirelle's family, her mother, aunt, uncle and associated cousins were all excellent company. Her father, Bruno, the only Swiss, was quirky, kind, and the provider of as much Grappa and clear spirits as I could possibly hope to drink (which is very little). Their oven, I noted by the size of the turkey, was as big as an Australian top loading washing machine, which in turn has the dimensions of an English chest freezer (I cannot think of an Italian equivalent, apart from maybe parking a Cinquecento in your kitchen) and I marvelled at its cavernous size as this white goods behemoth spilled out garlic bread and turkey for the whole afternoon. As the sun set on several games of Pictionary the younger males departed to watch that most perplexing and pointless of sporting activities on TV, American football and the rest of us, settled down to Lotteries! - Watching Tio Guillermo work his magic as the bingo caller, a job that, by the tell of his easy going, but still authoritative manner, in the way he would select a card from the pack held under the table, then briefly look at it before clearly calling it's name aloud "El Arbol" (the tree), "La Dama" (the woman), "El Diablo" (the devil) etc... whilst holding the card aloft, was clearly a role he had been performing for his family since their youth. Rosa and Yolanda, despite the years were clearly just as serious and competitive over this game of picture bingo as they had always been, hence one imagines Guillermo's no nonsense delivery, thereby eliminating any chance of his wife's and/or sister's accusations of favouritism of cheating.

The rest of the stay was taken at a very relaxed pace, on the Sunday I met Andrew, Ali and Michelle for an afternoon of Tea and Pumpkin pie, which by now had become the most staple of foodstuffs, breakfast, lunch and dinner. After a surprising revelation whilst reviewing the new Little Britain USA program, the name "Natasha Dean" pop's up in one of the sketches - Well, as they say, I am surprised Kate in Bendigo did not hear my exclamation "oh shit!". Vince and I left them to it playing XBOX Rock Band and went off for some Sunset Photography.

On our return we found that Michelle had left me a Welcome to Canada present, the hat and maple syrup in the banner, so thank you my dear, particularly because my hair is getting longer (now with the hat, beard and my favourite green army jacket, makes me look very Earl Hickey) and living out of a bag means that I don't think too much about buying stuff, so the hat is very useful for keeping bed hair under control, mind you if the head remains unruly, the syrup may also find another use.

I found that I missed Tash a lot during this visit, my thoughts of her now reflect only the good things I remember and find myself being surprised that there is so much. As Vince commented, perhaps I should employ someone to spend all my money, try to boss me around and come in drunk all the time and then I can bask in a more balanced glow of her glory. By the way, I still getting asked directions when I am in London, she is still around.

After getting off from the red eye flight home I spent a fitful night's sleep before taking off for London again, for one night only this time, this was a very pared down visit to see the old CSFB boys. It was bound to happen at some point I suppose, in fact I am shocked that it has taken this long, but after the jet lag, six weeks of traveling, four months of living out of a bag and the three pints of London Piddle, followed by far too many rounds of Sussex mild and then two shots of Glenmorangie at the bar........ I found myself pleading with Paul to get the taxi to stop so I could get out and be sick. He didn't, neither did it, but I did. My jacket needed a wash anyway.

Marisa and Nathan said good bye to their life in London on Sunday, it was worth the train journey to see them and thankfully no one was drinking. All their London friends turned up and most of us left without bothering to get each others numbers - oh just me then eh, DOH!, so if you are reading this, drop me a line, the TaoofTash email still comes my way. Johanna and I were the only ones who were present at the last leaving, though for the life of me I do not remember it, but as these two seem to be leaving the UK at decade intervals you should be booking for 2018 now, I imagine we shall all be a lot older, but no doubt Dave will question me with the same enthusiasm.......

The plan, as those of you that have been following my ramblings are aware, has been to hit Sydney by December.

In my frequently fragile state I have been very careful to try to avoid many of what I see to be the pitfalls of my position as is necessary; I remind myself that though I am without the most significant part of me, it was not the sudden loss, as death can be for some people, but a passing to gather my thoughts on our time before she left. I have not lost, as I noted in the week after Tash's passing, my entire family to the ravages of either war or disaster and I am neither destitute (though I will accept homeless), nor hungry in my grief because of it. Looking forward I see that the way to completeness requires some of the strength I used to support Tash so that I can learn to stand by myself, not to use others as a crutch and most certainly to respect the lives of those who help me. I have noted that the hand that has reached out to me has often also lost someone special, in many cases the same person as me, so it is unforgivable to put my feelings over theirs if they are offering me comfort or shelter.

Christmas day as I think you can all quickly imagine is probably going to be a bit shit for me. Initially the plan was to spend it with Marisa and Nathan, but quite rightly for a soon to be new family returning home, they have found that they have strong family obligations to attend to. Also Marisa can't drink, eat shellfish or cheese and of course it is summer there so she will be pregnant and hot..... probably for the best that party Mark is not with them I now think. This threw quite a big wobbler my way, as I quickly realised that it represented both a planning crutch and emotional support crutch (and very tempted am I to write crotch instead) as we four have spent many Christmas days together (you'll note my last line of the paragraph above again now please, they are a family now, these things take precedence). I appreciate that this December 25th especially, I could pretty much turn up at anybody's house and be welcomed and believe me I have considered all of you, but had to really think about what I wanted for this day as being a guest is such a bad idea, I'd sit on the sofa and drink beer, see all your family and just get very upset. This is not how our Christmases were, even when Tash was in Chemo, they are social, open and in my case, spent in the kitchen with food and this is where I need to be this year. Traditionally my survival instincts have only very subtly revealed themselves, this however needs to be a bit above board, I need protection (from myself of course) and support on this day and there are only a few people who can satisfactorily achieve this. My sister and Jason being the most prominent after M&N, we are currently discussing our many options for krimble and it sounds like a vintage conversation Tash and I would have every bloody year, with I suspect the same outcome; "Where in the world can we go away?" - Answer: "To a non Christian country to escape all this bon noel madness" - Supplementary Answer: "Along with everyone else who has booked much further in advance than us".

My Sydney arrival date therefore, might well be the first or second week in January, I will keep you posted and if any of you have any additional ideas; Maybe you have to spend the holiday supervising a group of 18 year old Netball girls for instance? Please let me know.