Relocation, relocation, relocation

The glass is definitely half full and, as a result, I am spending a lot of time thinking about the town in which I live.

The town sits in a fairly central location in the southern half of England. It’s a quiet town in a rural county; there’s one city, half a dozen miles to the east.

I moved here from Worcestershire and thought that would be my final move.

Well, things change and stuff happens, and as a result of things and stuff, my world is not as determined as it previously seemed.

This place is expensive. My bills for this two-bedroom house add up to a hefty £950/month.

Obviously, some things won’t decrease if I move (electricity, water, phone, broadband, etc), but the rent and council tax could be cheaper elsewhere.

And, as much as I have loved living here, one of the constant niggles I’ve had about this particular town is the lack of viable public transport.

So, my circumstances:

  • I’m unattached
  • I’m looking for a new contract
  • My next contract could be anywhere in the country
  • Each contract is, usually, for an initial three months (but usually rolled over, every three months, until the project is finally delivered)

My last five contracts have put me, for a year each time, in:

  • Bedfordshire
  • Salisbury
  • London
  • Swindon, and
  • Manchester

This morning I’ve applied for jobs (this is just a few of those that I am trying for, just to give you the general flavour) in:

  • London (7 – various points of the compass)
  • Birmingham (2)
  • West Sussex (2)
  • Home Counties (with travel)
  • Nottingham
  • Essex
  • Stevenage
  • Reading
  • Redhill
  • Oxford
  • Edinburgh (don’t ask)
  • Manchester
  • Cardiff

That’s a big spread of locations, but the list does underline, to me at least, that maybe I should be considering a smart move of house – to a place with a more viable transport infrastructure?

You’ll remember that this (lovely) town has no rail service and is far from a motorway?

Well, Swindon sits on the M4, and has an excellent train service.

Gloucester and Cheltenham are also well-served by both road and rail, though they may be too far on the western half of the country to be practical.

Closer to the centre of the south of England, both Reading and Didcot have very strong road and rail transport links. So does Basingstoke.

Hmm…

*thinks*

It may seem odd, at first, to consider this location, but there is also Milton Keynes. It has excellent train connections to most places, and sits squarely on the M1.

And Northampton, which also has very strong road and rail links.

I shall sit and think on this some more.

And I shall continue applying for contracts all over the country.

My lease on this house is up for renewal later this year.

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The afterlife

The death of a relationship is, in a number of ways, similar to the death of a person.

The perspective I have regarding relationships is that a ‘thing’, an entity, something that two people had built, had developed, had emotionally invested in, has ceased to exist.

How we deal with this passing (and indeed, how we deal with the passing of a human being) is a very individual process.

You might be thinking that I don’t subscribe to the Kübler-Ross model, but the truth is that I do. Sometimes. In some circumstances. Certainly, when my first daughter unexpectedly passed away, I followed what I didn’t know to be, but later came to learn was, the Kübler-Ross model of grieving.

But although there are similarities between physical and emotional bereavements, I do believe that we treat each emotional bereavement in a different way, depending on our true feelings for the other person in that recently ceased relationship.

As with a physical bereavement, we have memories of the other person. Yet, and unlike a physical bereavement, the other half of that relationship is still around. This is the point that defines the difference between the two passings.

I’ve seen people fail to get out of the pit of anger, when a long term relationship has ended. I’ve always thought that was an odd place to settle, and it certainly isn’t me.

The person who I am no longer romantically involved with (though I am still very emotionally involved with – because we can’t control our feelings, and developing the ability to turn feelings off and on, on demand, is never going to happen to me) is still around. And because this person is still around, and because I still have feelings for this person, I want to keep in touch.

No.

I am going to keep in touch.

Just because we are no longer lovers, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care for her. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to keep in touch.

To keep an eye on things.

To make sure she’s alright.

Because this is the kind of thing that friends do.

And despite the pain, despite the sadness, despite the longing, I do want to be friends with her.

Because I care about her. Not in a creepy stalkery kind of way.

I just care.

This is not a bad thing, surely?

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A voice (not The Voice)

It is early Sunday evening and I am inflicting great pain on my ears. BBC1s very own war on musical taste (The Voice) is punishing me for every bad thought I’ve ever had.

The singing, tonight, is dreadful. Yes, I could do better. Seriously.

I used to sing.

Chorister. A bunch of choirs. And a choral society.

And in a band. Not a famous band, not one anyone would have heard of. Not even a band that got signed. But we gigged. And we got paid for it. But right now my ears are on the point of spontaneously bleeding, the singing on tonight’s The Voice is that bad.

I’m single. He said, changing the subject.

Unexpectedly single.

My wife and I split up over 18 months ago. I caught her cheating. Again. So our marriage ended. Suddenly. After five and a half very happy years.

That was then.

Eight months ago I began talking to someone on Twitter. I really liked her. There was an instant connection. In both directions.

We added emails to our line of communications. And then texts. And then telephone calls. The connection between us strengthened.

Even though we had never met, we admitted we were strongly attracted to each other. But there was a problem. She was not single. Yet she found herself as attracted to me as I was to her, and I was smitten beyond all description.

After months of Twitter and emails and texts and phone calls, we arranged to see each other. Just for an hour. To meet up. For a drink. And a chat. And to say hello.

For half an hour we sat in the pub, and talked. Then we went out in to my car and kissed. Passionately. Deeply. Longingly. Lustfully. And I started falling for her. And she began falling for me.

We met, much more frequently. We talked on the phone, much more frequently. We emailed and texted all the time.

Two months later she left her husband.

I lived with her, on some/most days (and nights). On those days and nights we were together we lived as if we were a married couple. We shopped together, we went out for meals and drinks together, we stayed in and watched TV together, we cooked and ate together, and we fucked like fucking had only just been invented.

And during the five months that we lived together, we declared love – undying, never-ending love – for each other. We made plans. Long term plans. For us.

Five days ago I started getting little vibrations that things weren’t well between us. I asked her. She said things between us were fine. But she was missing her children.

Two nights after that conversation she told me she had been talking things over, with her husband. And they had decided to give things another try.

So that’s how I became single. This time.

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Keeping it real

And so I begin a blog.

An online diary.

More of a journal, really.

Why?

Because there is such a big pile of stuff going on in my life. And because I feel a need to write it down. I feel a need to unburden myself.

It all starts here.

Because I can’t do it anywhere else.

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