Time for flying rockets, for silver jets

As I write this I am spending my very last night in Manchester, for what I think will be quite some time. I’ve mentioned a few times now that I’ve been given the wonderful opportunity to go and take up in a village in West Yorkshire, a dream I’ve had for lots of years (I can be a very modest dreamer), and a chance to actually do that on my own terms.

I’ve never done this before. I mean sure, I’ve moved house plenty of times, but never quite like this. Finally at 24, I gain a small amount of independence, despite having left home 8 years ago. I don’t know what to expect when I get there – will any of this sunny weather still persist or will I see Yorkshire in the rain and wind – because trust me – that part of the world is the only place I find rain pleasant. I’m looking forward to wild countryside and unmanicured moors. I cannot wait. 

Naturally I’ll be venturing back to Manchester every now and then but not for any length of time. I threw so much love into the city, and so much of myself, and it has given me very little in return. I have made a lot of friends here, and my poetry career has indeed flourished partly because of this city and its amazing literary scene. However, my heart’s been broken here several times, I’ve been very unwell, I’ve been unstable and I’ve been anxious. What I really need is a break, and that’s what this is. A nice, long, break. I’ve got new ventures beginning in my life, new books to write, new journalism to start out on, and dare I say new romances to pursue. 

This post has been relatively short because my tablets are starting to kick in and I need to sleep soon. After all, I have a very busy day ahead of me. 

I will of course keep everyone updated, and post beautiful pictures of where I’ve been and where I am. 

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