Poor, poor, pitiful us!…

(…with just a hint of an apology to a Warren Zevon!)

it matters little that the Girl and I have been planning our move to Canada for a half decade now. No amount of imagining or fore-thought could have prepared us for the sensation that we are now experiencing in this strangely suspended state on the eve of departure. It must – of course – be much the same for all who pursue a similar course of action, but that is of oddly little comfort.

To reach the point at which we could transfer our existence to the far side of the globe it has been necessary for us – slowly but surely – to dismantle our life in the UK. Thus it is that I find myself now – for the first time since I achieved majority – devoid of paid employ, no longer the owner of land or property, without a motor vehicle or a mobile phone to my name and living out of a suitcase.

I feel strangely rootless and – dare I say it – practically stateless. Actually I dare not – of course – since that really would be a travesty in the light of the unfortunate thousands that truly are so.

Which having been said…

I have long carried with me at all times that which those of a sensitive disposition might refer to as a Mens’ Personal Organiser – but which the more brutal still stigmatise as a Manbag. This most useful carryall incorporates a large pocket at the front in which I habitually keep my keys… office keys, School master keys, house keys, car keys…

For the first time since I started carrying said tote in my early twenties, the key compartment is empty…

…which is a very odd feeling…