Dialogue: Obey the siren call then pay the piper

It's finally time to return from my travels and have a go at settling down. I've been abroad now for more than three months which, while not long for an OE, is quite a sizeable holiday.

Also, the weather in England just got horribly cold and I'm ill-equipped to deal with a rain that never stops.

Not that I don't have reservations about coming home, but there's just not a lot I can do about them, being 35,000ft above Greenland.

In fact, by the time you read this, I'll already be cruising Ponsonby Rd, catching up with friends, drinking great coffee and looking forward to the "welcome-home, happy-birthday" dinner that is being held in my honour this evening. Put like that, I'm really quite excited.

Although I might have stayed longer in Merry Olde England if the New Zealand dollar wasn't so weak. Or if my lifestyle hadn't become so hedonistic. Or if I had been entitled to work legally and earn pounds rather than just spend them.

As for my method of obtaining money since my savings account card was stolen - poking my Visa card into walls and removing cash, careless of the exchange rate - you can't live like that for ever.

So I begin this decade penniless but rich in experience, raring to work and not too fussed as to what that work will be. My 30th birthday on Wednesday was a gentle reminder that it is time I got a life, a job, or a raison d'etre.

But there isn't much I can do to achieve those things until I get home, so one last day of tourism it was.

A trip to the much-maligned Millennium Dome turned out better than I expected. When something has been touted as a sinking ship, one's expectations are often exceeded. The billion-pound dome was to be England's Eiffel Tower, intended to last at least as long, yet already its staff aren't sure if they'll even be there until the New Year.

"We just take it day by day," a security guard told me, gesturing to the empty spaces her co-workers used to occupy.

Another attraction I just had to try was a final look at London from the top of the Millennium Wheel. Gazing down on the city I had become so fond of, marvelling at its vastness and its greenery, I finally got my bearings the day before leaving.

Hours later the nearby MI6 building was the victim of a missile attack, which, as you can imagine, caused chaos right across town. Bombs and bad stuff always give me the feeling that going home is a good thing to do.

From a distance I imagine that nothing bad ever happens in New Zealand, the sun always shines and the living is easy.

Here, on Friday, a friend was robbed by a gang of "Yardies" (dodgy geezers) on a night bus. They took his watch and wallet while all the other passengers just looked the other away.

In more elegant suburbs, plaques on the walls, brass things, tell you which notable fellow was born or died or got drunk there. In comparison, the signs in my neighbourhood call for witnesses to assaults and murders to come forward: the requests for assistance in solving crimes are a regular assault on us all.

On Monday a man was stabbed to death at the petrol station where we get our milk and bread. Nothing to do with gas - it was just one of those things.

Interestingly, during the petrol shortages, London's air quality cleaned up by two-thirds; in just a couple of days the difference was profound.

I still love it there, though, and all during this break from reality the grass on my side of the fence has mostly been as green as green could be. For a couple of weeks I'll try to keep all the lessons I've learned in the forefront of my mind.

I'll try to live large in my own land as if I weren't home but grazing in fresh pastures instead. I'll try to be open to new experiences and talk to strangers just because I can. Veronese horsemeat is really tasty, but I'd never have known if I hadn't tried.

So, yep, I'm coming home. Ready for anything, 30 years old and what have I learned, what do I know?

Never wear white and cook beetroot, artificially blond hair is a hell of a thing to keep up and, eventually, the piper has to be paid.