This post is my personal love letter to my very special new home. Finally, I'm where I belong.
A few more hours in the day would be great, but it's distance that would help me get a little more writing done.
This week pushed me to the edges of my ability to cope. Luckily I took someone's hand and ended up seeing another story.
A chill. A cosy gloom. The rain. This autumnal turn means a lot more than a handy topic of conversation for this particular Brit.
The New Yorker in the bath, writing gloves, Greg Proops and all the things that do and will have one particular thing in common.
A month in a montage. In other words, a visual tour of some sights I found to be worth seeing.
An encounter with a city. A dislocation from a place.
This post is by way of an apology. I am no stranger to the idea that any good blog should get new content up regularly, and I had a little hiccup this past week and did not get a new post up. It's not lack of inspiration; like most people I currently have things bombarding my brain at a frightening rate.
Nor is it a lack of words; just at the moment they are flitting around my mind like a range of goodies in a lovely chocolate shop.
Rather, at this precise moment, it's a matter of time. Rarely should this be an excuse, but I am moving house in two days time and whilst this will be my third move this year, and I am becoming somewhat of a packing ninja, some things just take time.
Therefore, please take this post as my way of saying, you've not heard the last of me yet.