So, the night before the day that follows. Before I begin, perhaps some context. Last weekend was strange and hard, if not unanticipated, as the metrics of the classic Spice Girls hit “2 become 1” were reversed and I now have one girlfriend fewer than I did this time last week (a present total of 0 before any smart-arse wisecracks :) This may, or may not, explain a slightly more reflective mood as I do the hard part of preparing to leave: the last night, when nothing is left to pack and I’ve checked I have my passport a thousand and one times. I’ve said goodbyes and am just left with a little pocket of time to reflect and to think ahead, time to think about what I’ll miss and what I won’t, time to consider what will change and what will stay the same. The calm before the storm.

My gear ready for lift-off

I remember a similar feeling before I started Uni, like I’m breathing air heavy with nervous excitement or hopeful anxiety. Then, as now, there was little more to do than sit, think and pray. I feel like I should have some poignant background music like they always have in shit teen-dramas like The OC. I don’t think my boy Justin (see below) can help me out here, I need something acoustic yet uplifting. Answers on a postcard, I’m going with Get Cape Wear Cape Fly – Once More with Feeling (I hope I don’t get arrested on arrival for breaking copyright law with the YouTube vid).

The next time I write I will be in Egypt, and I’m not sure yet how this change in city, country and continent will affect things. Will it be like the difference between writing in Manchester and London? Like the difference between writing when tired or when full of energy? Like the difference between writing when in a relationship or when single? Change is an odd thing, sometimes what seem like the smallest changes can have the most profound impact in the grand scheme of things. Only time will tell the impact of my time and experiences in Egypt.

Ooh, deep. Please send the cheque from the Pullitzer to my UK address, for any publishers reading this I won’t take anything less than a tenner for the movie rights. Goodbye Britain and all who sail in her! In the words of the Foo Fighters: “I’ll be coming home next year.”

Tom xx

Wow London is tiring! 5 days left down here, just booked my return ticket, no first class luxury this time, after a month living the fast life in super-cool clubs and restaurants I've opted for the humble comfort of Economy. The last four weeks have been eye-opening and have certainly given me something to think about re: a career. I've also met some ace people who, fingers crossed, I'll manage to keep in touch with (see below note about UKIT). Speaking of UKIT, I don't think I've ever witnessed so many bloody acronyms, something I won't miss from the civil service!

I'm still feeling a tad underprepared for Alex, it's apalling how rusty my Arabic has got over the last three months, I'm going to have to bash through a quick revision course on the plane over! I'm also somewhat concerned about how many jabs I've had compared to others, I'm sure Dad knows what he's doing - trust him he's a doctor. Plus I'm indestructible anyway. On another note, also concerning me is Spurs lack of a defence. Or a midfield for that matter, but I won't bore you non-footballing types with the details, suffice to say the only thing positive so far this season is that we're above Man Utd. I'd also like to take this opportunity to recommend Justin Timberlake's Lovestoned, well the second half anyway (I know, I know you've all come to expect "better" of me). Truly blinding, an absolute tour-de-force from the little man, you have to stick it out till the last 2 mins though, that's when it gets good.

I'm still planning to write an emotional epic the night before I leave, I'm sure it's going to be a modern classic rather than the incoherent and tired babble above. Spending all day in an office does strange things to the mind, I'm not ready for the 9-5 yet.

Love to all,

Tom

P.S. I'm dissappointed by the lack of comments. I've had a measly two so far, and one was from some Portuguese geezer trying to flog me some t-shirts (I'd steer well clear, they looked distinctly knocked-off). Sort it!


 

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