Really, would it be a bad thing to hand back the keys of the flat, chuck a bag in the back of the car and drive away? The idea becomes ever more seductive the more I allow myself to think about it. It started innocently enough, of course, with the perfectly acceptable notion of moving just that bit further away from Oxford, to where rental prices get cheaper. I rolled that idea around a bit, tested it, looked at it from a few different angles. Prodded it. Put it to one side and came back to it, and finally decided it was a good one.
But I don’t think I know where to stop. A whiff of change in the air has me following the scent like a Bisto kid going home to Linda Bellamy.
How much further could I move before the cord tying me to Oxford snaps? And then what? Publishing is, mostly focused around Oxford and London. I know I’m neither moving to London, nor commuting there. A bit more testing and prodding and poking of the idea of not working in publishing. That holds up, too.
This morning I found myself idly browsing for places to rent in Penzance. Found some, too. Which led me on to further idle browsing for a job vacancy that might support a cottage in Penzance. Found one of those as well.
I’m not saying I’m going to act on any of this. But I could, though.