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It’s been a terrifically long time since my last entry, and I’ve started to feel slightly guilty about it, so here’s what’s happened in the past six(!) months. They’ve been largely filled with change, and without a massive amount of actual input from me. Whether I’m doing myself a disservice remains to be seen, but I’ll let you, dear reader, be the judge.

Under orders from both the GW and my best friend, I needed to move to Surbiton, so in May she and I began looking for somewhere to keep all of her shoes and whatnot. A friend of hers owns a flat in the questionably named Minstrel Gardens and had a tenant she was keen to get rid of, so we decided we’d step into the breach once his lease was up. This was almost too easy; mate’s rates and no deposit on a flat that we could walk into and call our own? That’s a touch whatever way you look at it. The GW kept half an eye on the internet listings just in case, and happened to spot a dinky little baseme… lower ground floor flat on one of Surbiton’s salubrious river roads (so salubrious in fact, there’s a pub at either end) one Wednesday afternoon. Coupled with the fact that her best friend lives next door, we couldn’t miss the opportunity to view it. That evening, we went to check the place out. She fell in love with it immediately, and my planned “I’m not too sure about it” fakeout lasted less than two minutes after we left. We left a message with the estate agents straight away, and after a pregnant pause until the following morning, the flat was taken off the market and we handed over a sizeable chunk of cash. Moving day came and went without a hitch, and so far, we haven’t got on each other’s nerves being in such close proximity all the time (touch wood).

In other news, determined not to be outdone by the GW, who started a new job at Emap in the fabled Mornington Crescent, I finally jumped ship from the NHS and their “unworkable” IT project  to join a small disability consultancy as a Project Administrator. After years of flitting between temp jobs in the public and private sectors, each with their own problems of endless bureaucracy or a relentless drive for profit, to get into a third sector company that are out to actually enforce change in a new role that I can put my own stamp on came as a massive relief. As with the new flat, this all happened very quickly too. When initially applying for the job, I expected nothing to come of it, as with most of my job applications. After some toing and froing between the intermediary recruitment agency, the firm and me, I was invited for interview. I came out feeling as though it had gone quite well, validated by the invite for a second grilling a week later. I wasn’t confident I’d sold myself as well as I could after the second encounter, but apparently this worrying was all in vain, as the ‘phone call came another week later to offer me the job #winning. A month and a half in, and I’m just about getting my head around things.

Once that call came, the whirlwind started. With a start date of August 1^st, I had to hand in my notice, knock up some kind of handover for my successor, move all of my shit (which didn’t actually seem to amount to all that much) and start a new job, all in the space of three weeks. Ballache doesn’t even begin to cover it. Thankfully, it worked out that I’d give myself a week of downtime in the flat to decompress and attempt to unpack before I started, and with no working internet connection and a barely-functioning TV, you’d think I would have had that place looking spotless. Nearly two months later, the majority of the debris from the box explosion has now been cleared. I’ve also found a suitable spot to put up my “This Is Anfield” sign too.

Marking my territory