Is that a squirrel on my head?

Still suffering from international-movingitis, I've been away from the blog for another week. Pathetic, I know, but electronic communications only remind me that I can't communicate with my friends or relatives in any other way right now. So, let's just say that I've been avoiding my computer where possible, and staring out the window instead.

Despite the grey skies, there are some very cheering sights: rabbits chasing each other and nibbling fallen fruits, and squirrels darting about with their bushy tails in the air. I walk through a wood in order to get anywhere (except the bus stop). A wood! There's something I could never say in Australia. I feel like I'm finally close to living out my girlhood Sylvanian Families fantasy, except I'm human and the animals are not wearing clothes. Oh, yes, and my temporary home looks like a two-storey block of public toilets (according to my sister, who's seen the photographs), not a cute woodland cottage.

I'm feeling a trifle exposed - some of the windows have no curtains and in the mornings, there are people outside, mowing the grass or walking dogs into the the thick vegetation at the edge of the lawn. I can see out, but people can also, possibly, see right in. I wonder if they can see the ironing board, piled high with solo, partnerless socks (why is it that when you're living out of a suitcase, half your socks disappear within a day or two?).

I wonder if they can see me in my pyjamas, crouching in front of the armchair (on top of a pile of Playmobil and coloured pencils) until they've gone and I can make a break for the stairs, which my daughter will chase me up, ensuring that it takes me half the day to get washed and dressed and back downstairs.

Perhaps my birdsnest hair, untended by a hairdresser* for nearly 27 months, and poking up over the top of the armchair, is within the dog-walkers' line of sight.

Come to think of it, perhaps my birdsnest hair is what's attracting so much wildlife. I don't need a wood to do that, as long as I'm sitting still, with my head screwed on. And, as I realise when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror or one of the curtainless windows, my head is, sadly, firmly attached at all times.

*Note: my hair, while straggly, split-endy, suddenly greying and grown out of its former layered cut, is definitely clean. Even using the "power shower" here (which dribbles out water in alternating hiccups of scalding hot and freezing cold), I manage to get it washed regularly. But as we all know, headlice prefer clean hair, so it's entirely possible that squirrels do, too.