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Dreadful Nonsense

"I've read your blog. it's really funny. you should write a column." - Jon Ronson

The quitting of my job went very well, in that I quit last Wednesday, but my boss man only came back from holidays today, and so he’s had the whole weekend and most of last week to get used to my ridiculously irrational and rash decision to leave the work place. He talked to me in the kitchen this evening as I sat eating my soup, and seemed quite resigned to the idea. He’s a nice man. I’m going to miss having a nice boss who may or may not fancy me a little bit and allow me to get away with murder. They’re hard to come by.

So, since I’ve outed myself to my boss, I have sent out an email tonight to everyone in Dublin that I know and love and also have a current email address for, I might as well out myself to the blogging community, because there’s a lot of things I want to blog about over the coming month that won’t make much sense without the giving of the context. Thusly, the following news is importantly delivered. Please read aloud in important and sombre tone.

Dear Kindly Reader(s),

You might or might not know – but you’ll know just as soon as you finish reading this sentence – that I’m moving to London at the end of May. This ridiculous decision has been made lightly and without proper care, thought and attention, and it’s one that I hope will come back to haunt me in future years. To that end, I’m giving y’all more or less four week’s notice with which you can do what the hecking crap you like. If you’re in Dublin or the surrounding areas, I’d advise you to use this notice period to get back in touch with me, go out in or around Dublin or the surrounding areas for one last time with me, give me all those presents and bits of hard earned cash you’ve been meaning to hand over for quite some time, or simply just ignore this whole embarrassing business and hope that I leave sooner rather than later.

If you’re in London, please begin making arrangements to make me feel useful and welcomed with open arms. Baking cakes is optional, but I do insist on being met at the airport in the manner of sporting team returning home victoriously from some sort of international competition. Balloons, red carpets, silly string, that sort of thing.

If you’re someone I’ve met in person in the last five years, found that we got on and would like an opportunity to visit a vast expensive city knee deep in pollution and murder statistics, please treat this as an open invitation to come visit me in London once I’ve found somewhere to live and a job to leave it for every day at the crack of dawn. I’d love you to come over, because I’m determined to be terribly lonely and homesick just as soon as I land.

There now. That’s all my news for the day.

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