Venture, capital

So, I’m moving.

No, not this blog. I’m quite happy where it is, even if it is occasionally neglected, like a semi-feral cat.

Anyway, yeah, I’m moving. Not today, mind, or tomorrow. Actually, in about a month. But moving nonetheless.

Let’s start again. I’m not being particularly clear or coherent here. Much like Hugh Grant appearing in any film pre-About a Boy.

I’m moving (we’ve established that) to London (not established) in roughly about a month to start a new job.

Yes, you heard me correct. London. Y’know, that big place inside the M25 where the streets are apparently paved with gold. I thought I saw some gold on the street when I was up there at the weekend. It turned out to be yellow chewing gum.

Yes, you heard me correct. London. The place the 21-year-old me declared emphatically, and with no uncertainly in his voice, that I could never see the appeal to and would never move to under any circumstance. That may also be a reason why I’m not particularly good at answering the question: “Where do you see yourself in five years time?” [1].

Fortunately this question didn’t come up, and I made no suggestions about having a sex change and giving birth to emphasise with our audience as I have done in the past. That place still gave me the job though. Mea culpa on both sides, perhaps.

So, anyway. London. I appear to have got a bit distracted from that. Sorry. See, that was only in five minutes. Imagine how much my mind would change in five years. That’s what its there for, though.

Sorry. LONDON. It’s big. There are still things I don’t quite understand about it, but then I said the same about the 3-5-2 system and that does work on occasions. And I did understand Mulholland Drive. I think.

But, yes, London. I’m excited. You can probably tell. When I got the job, I literally danced my way across Waterloo Station concourse.  Well, not literally. That would have been a bit daft. But I understand why Gene Kelly felt the need to hug a lamp post now.

Anyway, London. In one month’s time I’ll be on the verge of moving there and starting the new job, and I’ll try not to get shot inbetween moving in and going to work on the first day, but I can’t guarantee it.

I’m going to miss a lot of things about Exeter. Not least my current residency, five minutes walk from the hallowed turf of St. James’ Park, which means I could sleep in to half two on a Saturday afternoon if I wanted and STILL make the game. Not that I’ve done that, it would just be plain lazy.

I’ll also miss my current housemates who are just the right mixture between wonderful and strange and understand that Simon Pegg may just be a genius and there’s nothing wrong trying to inadvertently re-enact the entirety of Spaced in your mid-twenties, when you all have jobs, and careers and by all rights should be spending Saturdays in IKEA.

Then I’ll also miss the others who make Exeter such a wonderful place, and I’ll miss being close to family, and cats and the fact I have a gym almost literally, but not quite, next to my house, which has meant I’ve not GOT FAT during the 12 months I’ve lived here.

But it is London. And it is big. And I may not quite understand it. But I’m excited. And can’t wait. And will probably still fail to comprehend things, and still ask random questions like: “How many dogs would it take to take down an elephant?” But then some things never change, and some things do and I’m sure London and myself will come to a mutually beneficial agreement of sorts.

Anyway, London. It’s exciting. I’m moving there. All I need now is a room. Or a house. Or, even better, a room in a house.

Don’t suppose you have one, do you? I can cook good lasagne.

[1] Note to self, and others with social tendencies bordering on the inept. “In a mirror,” as an answer will not win you employment. 


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September 2007

Throw letters together and send them to me

Yes, this is my name. And my email. Use it wisely or you're not getting a biscuit with your tea: garyllewellynandrews [at] gmail [dot] com

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