Feeds:
Posts
Comments

So… the packers had been and gone and suddenly, it was Friday morning. One day left in the country. One day in which to say my goodbyes before the epic journey started.

I woke up early doors and had a look around. How did I still have so much “stuff”? What was it all for? Had I ever used it? Was it mine? And, more importantly…  How was I going to get it into the car?

What the hell is all this stuff?

Luckily for me, early training from my father had taught me a thing or two about packing (Join the Army – Learn How To Pack A Car). What seemed like 20 hours later after a number of swear words, several strained muscles and a twinge of sadness that the finished product didn’t look neater (my father always manages to find a place for everything with everything in its place. I gave up and just started stuffing things on the top) eventually the car was packed up (and look, I can almost see out of the rear view mirror! I’m sure this is going to be a useful thing.)

Please note the important elements of my packing. A Barbour (never know when I might meet a country squire and have to impress him.) A duvet (in case I have to have a little kip on the way) and shoes (you can tell that by this point I was pissed off and just started jamming things in whereever they would go. Honestly, underneath all the debris, it’s quite neat.)

The rest of Friday was pretty uneventful. I did some shopping (naturally) and mooched around Small Town near to where I grew up. That evening was spent with friends in The Village drinking wine, eating pizza and watching rugby (in all, a near perfect last evening in England).

5 o’clock dawned. I was awake. Just. A cup of tea later and I was almost ready to make the move towards my new life.

The sat nav optimistically said my journey would take 10 hours in total. Awesome. 10 hours on the road I can do. Enough time to sing through the whole of Les Mis and both Glee albums with time to spare.

A couple of uneventful hours later and I was joining the booze cruise hordes in Dover. I saw beardy weirdie types, I saw families, I saw yummy mummies on their way to their second home in the Dordogne. I even saw white cliffs. Could I find a bloody bluebird? No.

Seagulls, but no bluebirds.

Pictures can be decieving. It looks very peaceful and quiet here, doesn’t it. Don’t be fooled. I just happened to capture the 2 seconds when there wasn’t 20 tonne lorries rumbling past. And, since I was stuck in this queue for about 40 minutes, I got very used to the noise, and smell.

A ferry is a ferry is a ferry really. Despite running into a family member on the way…

… the ferry trip wasn’t as eventful as some I’ve had in the past (a story which, one day, I might regale. Possibly when I’ve drunk a couple of glasses bottles of wine.) Inbetween my sitting around and er… walking around, I did notice one thing… Why, if you’re on your way to a country which makes exceptional wine and sells it for a relatively cheap price, would you buy 10 gallons of crappy Californian wine on the ferry over? And look proud about it?

“Drive on the right hand side” my sat nav squalked (I have Alan Dedicoat as my voice – he reminds me of the days when the Radio 2 breakfast show used to be decent). I cranked up the music and started the drive. Pretty uneventful really. Lots of this….

Interspersed with a little bit of this…

In fact the only exciting thing was coming through the Alps. Exciting in the “oh my God it’s dark and pissing with rain and I can’t see and I’m on the wrong side of the road and ooo look there’s a sheer drop to my right and bloody hell these French drivers are nuts” kind of way. I didn’t think it was a brilliant idea to take photos.

However, all the stress and strain was completely worth it when you think of the views I have on my walk to work…

And so… my new life begins in Switzerland. I’ll keep you updated.

A year on

Looking back, I can’t believe it’s been a year since my life changed. And now, in 2010, my life is changing once more. For the better.

I thought, for the anniversary, I’d re-read my posts from that time and remember how lucky I am to be out of it.

The tease

Warts and all

The loneliness

Getting there

Tick, tock

The time of my departure draws ever nearer and I’m in two minds as to what to do with this place when I go.

Part of me would like to open it up to the world, update it, use it as a method of letting people know what I’m up to. The other part of me quite likes the privacy I’ve built up here. The fact that only a handful of my readers (ok, ok, I know, I’ve only got a handful to start with!) know who I am and know the people I’m talking about.

It’s a decision for another time.

Until then, please accept my apologies for non-posting. Things are so manic at the moment that I need to get on with things, refresh my mind, refresh my writing and start all over again.

Next time we speak, I’ll be here.

Guilt trip

I’ve managed to guilt myself into writing something, anything down in this sad, neglected corner of cyberspace. Having come back from my holiday (which was fab, thanks) a relaxed, slightly pink tinged, generally chilled out woman, I’m now slowly submerging myself in work again. Except I’m not. Except I’m demob happy. I’m counting down the days, weeks, months until the next big adventure begins.

When will it be?
When will I move?
Where am I going to live?
Will I have a local café that I’ll spend lazy Saturday mornings in, watching the world go by or, more probably, will I think about going to a local café and watching the world go by but veto it and stay in bed instead?
How will I decorate the new place?
Will I go IKEA mad at the slightest chance?

The more I think about it, the more excited I am to leave. Which surprised me when I first came to that dawning realisation.

After all, I don’t hate my life. It’s pretty damn awesome. Or is it? Or have I got myself into a rut of comfort which I really need to leave? Isn’t it time I got out there, met new people and had a bit of adventure? Isn’t it time that I started enjoying the fact I’m free and single instead of constantly thinking that there’s nothing left for me?

When I was 17, being in my late 20s didn’t seem too bad. I mean, why would it? I was going to be married and happy by that point, right?

Now that my late 20s has hit, I feel like I’m past it. Friends around me get married and produce babies in quick succession. People change, priorities change and I haven’t.

Which is why this move will be good for me. It’s a chance for me to Ctrl-Alt-Del, start anew and see what life brings me.

No preconceptions, no goals, no expectations.  

No guilt about this trip.

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »