When I was a kid, my sister and I would spend the school holidays with my grandparents. My mother worked, so it was the only alternative. And I now know how lucky I was. It was an opportunity to tramp through paddocks and play with ponies, which I thought of as the norm when I was young. I now know better.

After the long summer holidays, six weeks of horses, heat, flies, the distinct smell of burning eucalypt on the air, as many books as I could lay my hands on, and, admittedly, the slightly twisted logic of my grandmother, it always felt odd returning home. Usually it would only be a day or two before school started up again.

Returning to school, having not seen any of my friends for all that time, I’d be nervous. Would we still be friends? Would we be in the same classes? Would I still be a dag? Would any of the boys like me at all? Probably I should have been thinking about doing better in my classes, but, in honesty, I didn’t. I wish I could say I’ve changed. I haven’t.

So that’s what this feels a bit like. I’ve been away from this blog for such a long time, that every time I thought of finally returning, it felt different, strange, unfamiliar. Like I could only disappoint. I’d have an idea of writing something, but then it would slip, easier, it seemed, to remain unwritten.

Well, I’m back. School settled back into a routine after the first couple of weeks, and the holidays were quickly forgotten. I’m sure it will be the same here. (Of course, until it does, I’ll be wondering, "Are we still friends? Are we still reading the same blogs? Am I still a dag? [undoubtedly] Will any of the boys like me at all? [eh, not such a big concern anymore]"