What were the first words to pass through your lips having been dug up after three weeks buried alive, a continuous cycle of waking up underground, starving to death while waiting for your sometime psychic friend to hear your thoughts and find you, waking up again, screaming a bit, then times that by about three or four?

The answer was:

"Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

And then you kissed the ground a bit, mwah mwah mwah, rolled around in the grass a bit (not really thinking about the fact that a dog may have done his doodoos on it, I mean really, who cared), clapped eyes on said psychic friend/love of your life, babbled a quick disclaimer about the fact that you have just-woken-up-from-semi-eternal-slumber-breath, and that she'll just have to suck it up, and finally lay a big fat slobbery lingering kiss on her, knocking her not very politely to the ground into the aforementioned dubious grass.

Ignore spade-wielding onlookers assembled from former community service alumni for a while, clock them, then tell them you're grateful and all but you've got plans... they can stop and watch if they like that kind of thing but…