Another spring, another city. In 2007, it was Cambridge, Massachusetts; 2008, Montreal, Quebec, and now, despite years of protest and resistance, I’m spending 2009 in London, England. Maybe it was good I held out so long, because it meant I travelled far, and met all kinds of people, but I’ve been feeling the desire to nest more and not live out of my suitcase for once. Which means, come July, I’ll be moving into a shiny new Shoreditch flat with one of my best friends for (deep breath) a whole year.
A year! I haven’t been in one place that long since I was 21, back in the depths of Sussex, working part-time as a receptionist in the local alternative health clinic (because in my village, it doesn’t count as health unless there’s reiki, homeopathy and acupuncture on the books). And then along came my whim to use my life savings to go cross the Atlantic and, well, live a little. And then along came that first book deal…
Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing this past week: pounding the pavements, fainting at London rental prices, and toiling on that next book of mine. Plus, reading vast amounts of apartment therapy in preparation for my move-in, and reveling in the first pretty dresses of the season.
(I need to start taking photos again.)
