I haven’t seen my mother in what is now approaching a month. It’s the longest I’ve ever gone without seeing her. I miss her.
I moved home at the start of November last year, and even though I’m now to be here until start of November this year, I still count this as a temporary stay, so I haven’t yet “unpacked”. My life’s possessions still dwell in stacked boxes. Just as I go searching for my copy of Gatsby, I hear an advert that uses a modern cover of Needle in a Haystack coming from the living room. You have no idea.
My train journey between London Bridge and Charing Cross, I usually allocate to replying to unread texts, messages and emails. We haven’t even reached Waterloo and my phone is already back in my pocket. Definitely not feeling loved right now.
I may of obtained slightly more sophistication and etiquette as I’ve grown up, but I’m still yet to discover how to graciously eat an unpitted olive.
I’ve just calculated that my expenditure from the last two weekends, and the days in between, sits just shy of £4,000. That’s a lot of money. My intentions by posting this is not to brag, this is very much a one off occurrence, but more as a reminder to myself that I should be forever grateful that I’m in a position where I can actually do this. I try to live my life with as much positivity as I can possible instill but we all have those silly moments where we feel sorry for ourselves and believe it’s always us against the world. Everyone is entitled to a bad day, of course, but sometimes I feel I take for granted how lucky I am to be able to do the things I do, and live the life that I’ve been able to live. That needs to change.
I’ve hit the age where a bad back is an acceptable excuse for a night in.