Headhunted. Me?

Well, what a turn up for the books. I’m genuinely in a state of desperation as regards cash and money at the moment, and as so often happens, things find a way of working themselves out. That’s a really dreadful sentence, but I know what I mean. A freelance writer for a national newspaper in the UK has contacted me and wants me to become the Editor of a new light-hearted blog. Details of it have yet to be confirmed, or found out – but it could be a nice little extra income, and I’m extremely excited about what this might lead to. Hurrah!

Eight weeks to pack and unpack

Eight weeks to go until we move. Somehow, I’m quite happy about it all – it was essentially my idea in the first place – but the fact it’s coming so soon does worry me. Not only do we have to clear the house, and the loft (which hasn’t been touched for 30+ years) but we haven’t found anywhere to live! And I’m off to the big smoke – on the pathetic salary I find myself on, this will not be easy.

The prospect of living with strangers does not appeal, one little bit. I’m not unsocial, or anti-social – or whatever the term is – but living with people I don’t know very well, or at all, is a concept I can’t yet grasp! Still waiting on a friend to see if he’ll be able to make it – we would have such a brilliant, drunken time if we got a flat, but alas it’s unlikely to happen.

And meanwhile, going through some things from the loft I came across some stuff from my Dad; piles of letters he wrote to Mum, and her to him, which have been quite fascinating. We hold our parents in high regard (I do, anyway) – slightly mythical people, with a wisdom and intelligence far beyond ours. Or so we thought. These letters, written in their 20s, were just as dull and hopelessly love-stricken as I’d expect I would write to my girlfriend. “I suspect you’re tired after your long drive? Nevermind, have a nice rest and you’ll feel fine in the morning.”

People don’t change much, really, do they?