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Dreadful Nonsense

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

There have been Great Plans a-foot in Chez Love these past few weeks, Great Plans that have taken a temporary set back, due to real life not being the same as everything we hold in our collective imagination. One of the main Great Plans we were working on, complete with sketches, plots, sub-plots and miscellaneous addendums, was that we were going to be moving out of The Great Smoking Hell of London Town, and going to the beautiful city of York. As I mentioned previously, our choice of destination came out of a conversation that I believe was carried out while both of us were under the influence of alcohol. We decided on moving to either (a) Brighton or (b) York because that seemed like a good idea, and nowhere else in England would do. And that was that.

However, last night, having sobered up for what may be the first time this year, I took to thinking while doing laps and laps and laps of the pool (swimming so ferociously that I'm proud to say I drove everyone else away) that maybe moving away just at this moment isn't the best idea. I came home laden with this bad news, this slice of reality, and tried to break it as gently to He Who Only... as I could. Since he was also sober at the time, we realised after much discussion that, actually, yes, running away and hiding somewhere pretty is a brilliant idea, but it won't really lend to development of careers.

So the nub and the crux of the thing is that we're trapped in London for at least another 12 months. And yes, I know that London is not the Centre of the Universe, and that other things happen in other cities, and that there is such a thing as commuting, but honestly, we've tossed over every single possibility and even checked out Google Maps to see if there's anywhere else to live in England other than (a) Brighton or (b) York and it turns out that there isn't.

I went to work this morning utterly despondent, because for some reason it seemed to me that I'd have to carry on working in a place I don't really like, with people who don't really like me, for at least the next 12 months, without the shining beacon of York lighting up the next few weeks and months. Until I suddenly realised that - like all the best alcohol and drug addicts - I can quit any time I want!

And that's an important note to hold on to on a Friday. Happy Friday, everybody.


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