Well it's been a while since I've popped by, which is very rude indeed when you realise I am the hostess of this little corner of the information ether.

But I got the opportunity to gallivant to Turkey - all expenses paid - a few weeks ago (which was lovely) and caught a stinking cold when I got back which has meant I've spent all my free time since then sleeping and snotting (not so lovely).

I went back to Istanbul for the first time in two years and it was a strange feeling, but definitely a good one.

First some background. I'm half Armenian. Which probably sounds as if it has no bearing on the situation whatsoever, but stick with me. My dad's family, although Armenian (an orthodox form of Christians) are for the most part based in Istanbul. La. Hence the family holidays here - not, I hasten to add, that I'm complaining!

Flying into Istanbul was as always, a good feeling. It shouldn't feel that way, but in some ways it feels a bit like going home - I lived there for a year when I was 20 and all my childhood summer holidays were spent in a small holiday village about an hour's drive from the city. The butterflies I get in my stomach, just from seeing the Fatih Sultan Mehmet bridge lit up as we approach Yesilkoy, are pretty amazing.

Despite the fact that when I spent my year here by the end of it I wanted to go home more than you could ever imagine, coming back always makes me feel in some small way I *am* home.

In England, because of my name people often assume I'm foreign (and a bloke, but let's ignore that for now!) and unable to speak English but here people hear my accent and know straight away I'm a yabanci (foreigner) even if I'm having a good Turkish day.

Having said that, I love being part of two cultures, and I love Turkey. Not the beach resorts with slimy waiters trying to sell tat and sweet talk English girls, but the real, paradoxical Turkey, in some ways so modern, in some ancient, sometimes liberal and sometimes ultra conservative. And with a pop music scene which would send all but the fans of the cheesiest pop running for the hills.

Even before we'd gotten off the plane I could feel I was back: On landing all the Turkish passengers applaud the captain for his successful landing in a way faintly reminscent of those disaster movies where the pilot dies and the air hostess has to be talked into landing the plane. Every time it happens it makes me laugh, and I've never had it happen landing anywhere other than Istanbul, but the rippling applause somehow typifies Turkey and the Turks for me.