As you read this, I am sitting on a train with my brother, heading north to my beloved homeland. Gone are the days of full time employment in office drudgery, and dead ahead lie the tumultous seas of PhD research, part time work and as much fiction writing as I can cram into my days. A few people have asked me how I feel about moving back in with my family but I get on really well with them, and it enables me to afford to study something I've wanted to do for six years. Win!
Still, I bear London no ill will for the fact that our love affair has turned sour. I did really enjoy living in London when I first moved there but the Spirit of the place has hardened towards its inhabitants. I don't regret the move down there, and indeed, a lot has happened in the past seven years. I got my Masters, I've been engaged twice, I've lived in three different flats, I've experienced redundancy, I had my first book accepted for publication, and I've met some wonderful people (special mention goes to the VERY awesome Jen Brubacher, who I just wish I'd met sooner). But it's time to move on. I don't consider my move back to my homeland to be a move backwards, but rather a step further along.
Let's see where the next seven years take me.