The latter part of last year was spent in contemplation and conversation about being 27, the age most good rock stars die, and what course of action to take to try and assuage the inevitable existential crisis of being 30, which will undoubtedly come around quick.
I came to a couple of conclusions. The first was that I was still living in my hometown, and yet, the things that emotionally tied me to it were no longer there, i.e. I've lost most of my childhood friends to heroin addiction or worse - girlfriends, and a relationship of my own fell through which left me somewhat anchorless, with just an inherited cat for company. The second came as a result of a conversation with one of my housemates from university, who claimed university doesn't count as an independent life experience and the only way to have a fulfilling character building experience of independence is to move somewhere entirely new, where you basically don't know anyone... which is what I have since opted to do. So, as it turns out, the city of Bristol is my home now.... time will tell if this was a terrible decision but I can already feel that it probably wasn't. For the most part this city is the finest hub of art and culture you can find outside London, where Reading by comparison is a banal mass of corporate infrastructure and white collar wankers... so I feel perhaps for the first time in a long time I'm in the right place at the right time.
But it was still a long hard goodbye to the following creatures.
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