Witches Tits

Now, I'm sure I should have started my first blog post post-New Orleans a little more gently but I just can't. 85 degrees to 35 degrees in the space of a plane ride is enough to make a girl cry. And if you don't believe me about the witches-tit here's a handy formula, a Fahrenheit-to-witches-tit conversion (this roughly works out to one WT at 20 degrees... I digress). Faced with an inbox of 467 unread mails and a few hundred photos to tag and put on Flickr feels very daunting. New Orleans was without doubt the scariest place I have ever been. The aftermath of Hurricane Katrina is far from over. The reminders are everywhere; the rescue markings written on the buildings and the marks written into the people. It's a tough, beautiful, sad, unique city. I never thought I'd go anywhere that made me look like a panty-waisted tee-totaller (I was wrong). Being without technology and connection for the duration of my six-week stay was something I started as a self-imposed experiment; the reality of being actually without connection to the world beyond Louisiana state lines was tough, and pretty lonely to be honest. I'm not going to attempt to unpack my head on everything just yet, but will try to unravel the spool over a few posts.