So here we are. It’s Monday again and I’m shattering this radio silence. I’m shattering it like a milk bottle in a tumble dryer filled with bricks. A great many things have happened over the last couple of weeks, none of which I might add were entirely planned. But as Helmuth von Moltke the Elder’s adage goes “no plan survives contact with the enemy.” Whether the enemy in question is myself remains a matter of debate. The lease on my old flat was due to expire at the end of February. Rather understandably I wanted to try and find a new place to live sooner rather than later. I had originally booked this coming week off from work to do house hunting, but a quick speculative jaunt to look at a flat 2 weeks ago, just to “get a feel” for the market again set wheels in motion. Terrifying, terrifying wheels. Now 2 weeks later I’m in a new flat, I’ve moved, I’ve unpacked, the internet is even up and running. So that’s a load off my mind, I can take a deep cleansing breath and no longer have to worry about my central nervous system tearing its way out of my body screaming “I JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANY MORE! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!”
So that’s nice.
- I possess many things…
At the time of writing, I am not in the finest of fettles. I am in a word, exhausted. For me weekends are important not because they allow me to not be at work, but because they allow me to do nothing. They let me recharge the leaky, poor quality batteries that sustain my crude and imperfect meat-vessel of a body. This weekend has not seen much time for rest and relaxation. I have been “doing things” and this has left me worse for wear. Saturday saw me heading on a very important quest. I headed out to Reading. My noble and perilous goal? A combination of some early Christmas shopping and buying some sorely needed new jeans for work. A sojourn that I give the slightly inappropriate name of #EpicRockStarAdventure. The jeans were a matter of some urgency. My current work jeans are full of holes, the fly on one pair finally gave up the ghost and died and to cap it all off I am not as thin as I once was. Having to move up to a 32″ waist has given me a new understanding into the mindset of those who constantly bemoan their behemoth like girth when they are in fact slim and trim. It’s all a matter of perspective I suppose. If you’ve spent the vast majority of your life slipping into a 28″ waist you’re going to really notice it when you start to put on a bit of weight and cease to be quite so svelte and hideously skeletal. And then there’s the ever looming spectre of trying to find somewhere to live.
- Shh… I’m hunting flats
This missive comes to you from the blasted wastelands of Berkshire. My last post came amidst the uncertainty of a move to strange new lands and the availability of the sweet, sweet balm of the internet super highway. Continue reading
I started this blog on a dark and gloomy night in the closing days of February. Now it is five months later and I’m somehow still going. It does pain me somewhat to say that I’m going to have to stop, at least for a little while.