Day 18: A tale of sleep, Eggs, DJ decks and digestive freedom.

Slept like a heavily sedated Victorian heiress - finally back in my own bed, with all my pillows arranged just so.

You know the drill: one for the head, one for the knees, one to ward off demons, and one for emotional support.

At 5am sharp, the AristoCats launched Operation Alarm Clock by tap dancing on my face and yelling in fluent Meow.

The reunion sobs (from them, not me) were heartfelt. Mummy and Daddy are HOME! Feed us, peasants!

Still processing Brussels. Let’s just say it was a city of… contrasts.

TinTin? Yes.

Trams of Doom™? Also yes.

But Brugge? Oh Brugge. You romantic, cobbled temptress.

My love for you has deepened like the metaphorical puddle outside our Airbnb.

Now, let’s talk breakfast: despite swearing I’d never eat another egg post-gallbladder-gone saga, guess who boiled one up and popped it on toast like an absolute fool?

But plot twist: that rogue egg… fixed my constipation.

I repeat: The Egg Has Left The Building.

My bowel? EMPTIER THAN MY BANK ACCOUNT AFTER HOLIDAYING IN THE EUROZONE.

Thank you, noble egg. A true hero of the gastrointestinal world.

Ventured to the supermarket like a wild-eyed Victorian governess afraid of public toilets. Couldn’t fancy a thing. Not a crisp, a cheese, not even a croissant whispering sweet nothings.

Appetite? Missing. Probably eloped with my gallbladder.

Lunchtime - emotional reunion with my beloved chocolatey protein bowl.

I missed it more than I missed British tap water.

This time, jazzed up with goji berries because I’m posh now.

Then: FOUR HOURS of DJ training with my long-suffering (but devilishly handsome) DJ boyfriend.

Picture me, headphones on, face serious, accidentally looping the same snare for 8 minutes. But apparently… I did well! He’s proud. I haven’t seen him this emotional since he discovered the Pret condiment station at St Pancras.

AND GUESS WHAT:

I FINISHED AND PUBLISHED MY FIRST EVER DJ MIX!

JABatha Christie is in the booth, babes. Happy bunny status: activated.

Unfortunately, today’s emotional high was paired with Mount Nausea.

A wave that lasted all day long.

Thank you, ginger, for standing by me.

Even when soup betrayed me at dinner. Again.

Now curled up watching Untamed and thirsting over Eric Bana like it’s 2001.

Netflix, please drop Season 2 before I start hallucinating plot twists.

Working from home tomorrow. Technically that means sleeping in - but who are we kidding? The cats have set their schedules, and I am but a humble staff member.

Love to all my Mounjaro mates.

May your bowels be swift and your nausea brief!

With Love,

JABatha Christie