People often ask me why it is that I have chosen to live here on this small island in the Philippines, 9000 miles away from where I was born.
At first I was amused by that question - hadn't they, after all, spent a sizeable sum of their hard earned cash on their long awaited two week vacation in 'paradise'? Isn't it a stunningly beautiful, enchanting place, where most people can only dream about residing?
But I thought, on reflection, perhaps they wouldn't really want to live here. Despite those romantic fantasies dreamed up at sunset after too many Pina Coladas, for most people, the sacrifices that they would have to make would be just too great.
Giving up lucrative jobs, houses, family and all the luxuries of city life (after all, how many of us can afford to live permanantly in a nice hotel?) would simply be too much of a transition, despite the beauty and charm of this island.
Most often, two or three weeks is about as much as they can take here without inevitably becoming bored or restless.
Which leads me to the next question they ask - "Don't you get bored here?"
Well sure, sometimes. but no more bored than I was when I lived back in the UK. After all, most people live a life of dull routine in that cold, grey country - getting up at the same time every day, commuting to work, toiling at the same thing over and over, spending the majority of their time doing things thay would much rather not be doing (after all, it's only the lucky ones who truly love their jobs), commuting home again in the traffic and rain. Perhaps meeting the same friends at the same bar as they did last week...
And many people are satisfied with that, or at least they don't consider there to be an alternative.
Perhaps I paint an overly bleak picture of the UK, but that's how it seems to me now, compared to Bora.
Here, at least, I am not stuck to a routine. I can eat when I am hungry, sleep when I am tired and mostly do whatever I fancy. And while I miss my family (and can't help wondering what might have become of my career had I not left England) right now I am enjoying my time here.
Life in the UK seems so safe and sanitised compared to life in the Philippines. While the island now feels like home to me, I still encounter things on an almost daily basis which make me curious, bemused, awed, shocked or downright disgusted. Life here is so much more colourful!
When people ask 'When will you return to the real world?", I'm not so sure I understand the question any more. How can a concrete jungle full of miserable, harassed-looking people be more 'real' than a life living near the sea in a wooden house under the coconut trees, being lulled to sleep by the sound of the waves.
I'm not interested in that sad city habit of constant meaningless competition with others as to who has the best car, house, job or entertainment system.
I love the feeling that anything could happen here; that on any given day part of my roof could be torn off by a typhoon, or I could put my foot through my bamboo floor (OK, that hurt!) . It certainly makes you look twice when a motorbike passes you on the road with a large dead pig riding pillion on the saddle. It's fascinating to watch my cat playing with a black sea snake on the beach, and awesome when a butterfly as big as a bird lands on your hand. It's funny when you notice that a little gecko has dropped from the rafters and landed in your rum and coke (though somewhat disgusting too, considering it must have been floating around in my glass for quite some time before I noticed it).
I have the time to read books, sketch and paint, make jewelry, explore around the island on our little wooden boat with Joey, or simply enjoy the luxury of doing nothing but swinging in my hammock with only my thoughts to amuse me.
I regularly get to meet fascinating people from all over the world with many interesting stories to tell over a few cold beers in the evening.
True, raining season can be a touch depressing - fewer people around to chat to and too may hours spent sitting inside watching TV, reading, playing board games and drinking too much Tanduay Rum while it pours with rain outside.
The black-outs (locally known as brown-outs) can be a pain in the arse. Candle light is not at all romantic while you are attempting to cook a meal for a group of friends in a small poky kitchen. And a sudden power-outage during a good movie makes me curse with frustration!
Clothes and books grow damp and soggy. Metal things rust, and wooden things get devoured by termites (hence the foot going through the floor). It's tiresome positioning bowls and buckets under newly discovered leaks in the roof, and annoying trying to sleep while listening to the relentless dripping.
Bills have to be paid, responsibilities have to be taken care of, just as they do 'back home' - only without the safety net of Social Security, NHS and family. It doesn't feel so much like paradise then!
But even when the habagat (south-west monsoon) wind is buffeting white beach and huge waves pound the shore during a typhoon, or when I feel an earth tremor under my feet; when the force of nature makes me feel as small as an ant, I like it that way.
Sometimes people ask me "How often do you go home?"
My answer? "Every night, unless there's a particularly good party!"